When Doom met Death
by Musafreen
Summary: Nico/Rachel drabbles, mostly conversation. Because they're turning out to be so cute, I don't know what to do with them. Innuendo, language, evil relatives and cliched scenarios. Indulge away.
1. 1 to 10

**Author's Notes:** I swear I'm now obsessed with these two. They refuse to pop out of my head. Apologies for all the overlaps. :)

**

* * *

**

**Colour **

"Perfect."

She stood back with an annoyingly pleased smile. Nico, for his part, was rendered speechless.

"_Yellow?"_ he asked, just slightly pathetically.

"You lost, remember?" she told him.

"But-"

"We had a bet. You lost. Now you have to pay the price," she regarded him with a grin, "or do you want me to call in the witness?"

The thought of Annabeth knowing about this somehow managed to make him feel worse.

"No."

"Because you seem kind of uncertain, and like you need somebody to boost your confidence and-"

He glared at her and put on the pale yellow T-shirt with the bright yellow smiley on it. This was going to be a long day.

**

* * *

Strength **

Lightning flashed out side. She cleared her throat.

"Are you imitating an ostrich?"

His voice came out muffled from under the pillow.

"Why're all the lights on?"

Admitting something like _I had a bad dream_ was out of the question, of course.

"It gives me artistic inspiration. A solitary light amidst the darkness."

He managed to punctuate the space between two blasts of lightning with a snort.

"Like you're qualified to judge, dead boy. You wouldn't know true art if it danced in front of you wearing a tutu."

"Oh please," he said, "I've seen the kind of thing you call art. Half-sawn cows, and styrofoam cities-"

"You're still imitating an ostrich," she pointed out.

"It's because I can't sleep with all the lights on," he told her, "hurts my eyes."

She let her disbelieving snort till him what she thought of that, just as another bolt of lighting flashed and their grip on each other's hands tightened.

**

* * *

Competition**

"I win. Again."

Nico, for his part, was feeling suspicious.

"You're cheating, aren't you?"

She looked at him innocently, green eyes widening with surprise.

_Definitely _suspicious.

"All right Dare, how in Hades are you doing it?"

Rachel snorted.

"You've beaten me six times already-"

"Seven. Ten if you count all the times you threw a tantrum and left in the middle."

"Six times already," he maintained, dismissing her tally with a wave of his hand, "You've clearly established your superiority. Now can you tell me how you did it?"

Rachel considered the board for a few moments.

"Strategy," she finally answered.

"It's Monopoly. There's no strategy in Monopoly."

"Which shows why I win and you don't."

"Just admit it!"

"I'm not cheating. It's not my fault you keep losing. If you just concentrate on developing the low-price regions and not buying up all the high-price ones-"

"_Gods._ You're impossible!"

"Sore Loser."

**

* * *

**

**Caffine**

People wouldn't expect him to be a morning person, but that wasn't strictly true.

He'd been something of a sporadic early riser when he was a kid, but sticking to that now seemed a little _wrong_. On the other hand, he'd settled for being irritatingly perky right after waking up. This was something Rachel had failed to learn after a decade of being the sun god's oracle.

"Give it back to me," she shrieked, uselessly flailing hands towards the cup, "I swear, DiAngelo, if you don't give it to me this instant-"

"Too much coffee is bad for you," he told her with a benevolent smile, keeping the mug above her head.

"I'm addicted, you jerk! I'll go into withdrawal. Give it back!"

Her efforts are dampened by her half-closed eyes, and she fails to notice how each jump jostles her dressing gown in ways he finds really enjoyable. He so loves mornings.

**

* * *

**

**Schadenfreude**

For a guy who could stare at people and make them face some of their deepest fears, he sure had a lot of phobias.

"Nico?"

"I don't want to talk about it," his voice came out slightly muffled.

She felt a wide grin light up her face.

"It's just a thunderstorm."

He grunted, digging deeper into the pillow.

"I mean, it's not even like it's a particularly impressive one. Usually the ones you get here are a lot worse, with Olympus being here and all."

He didn't say anything, but he did move further into the pillow. His head was going to poke out of the other end soon enough.

"And storm season should get over in only two months or so. Maybe three. Of course, with the whole climate change thing, it could take-"

He mumbled something from underneath the pillow. She thought it was probably, "What did I ever do to you?"

**

* * *

Voyeur**

"All I'm saying is, get a new pair. Or buy a skirt."

She lovingly runs her hand over her jeans, tattered with so many stories, and glares at him.

"Preferably, a really short skirt," he continues, "One of those things which look like a wide belt."

Images of party nights at Clarion Academy flash in her mind, and she shudders. Kronos take her before things came to that.

"My jeans are off limits. Lay off my jeans."

"Or maybe one of those tiny little dresses-"

"I get the point, you pervert. But lay off my jeans."

"Or a tube top and shorts. Really short shorts. Or a bikini. Or one of those things with-"

**

* * *

**

**Golden**

He finally spotted her. She had one hand on her Mother's upper arm, and another around a glass of champagne. In front of her, savoring her with rapt attention, was a guy who looked vaguely like a rugged Apollo. Glittering blond hair cropped close to the head, brilliant baby blues, and a thousand megawatt smile.

Nico rubbed the bridge of his nose before heading over. He doubted this was going to be pleasant.

"Hey, Rach."

She looked back at him, eyes a little wild, and dropped her mother's arm to pull him forward.

"Speak of the devil," she tittered, "Dylan, I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Nico Di Angelo. Nico, Dylan Kelley. He'd one of my father's business partners and _ow_-"

Her mother managed to rake fingernails across her bare arm, effectively shutting her up. Nico felt vaguely sorry for Rachel; when he was around hers, even his absentee family seemed all right.

"Hi," he gave the guy a nod, "Rachel, can we go? There's some sort of-"

Her mother shot him a glare. Nico was impressed by the ferocity of it. Rachel shot him a desperate look, willing him to finish the sentence.

"Um. We need her help. Rachel?"

It took her all of five seconds to startle her mother and the guy into stunned silence with her goodbyes, and even lesser to drag him across the ballroom and out to the grounds. He was pretty sure she didn't stop hyperventilating till she was out of the front gates.

"Nice dress," he finally ventured.

"I refuse to talk about it."

* * *

**Cough**

"What the _hell?!_"

Nico winced and looked up. He supposed Rachel had a valid reason for going that white; people didn't usually cough up blood into her kitchen sink. Then she had to charge at him and hold him by the waist, like he was bout to fall down any given second.

"I'm fine," he told her, rolling his eyes, "Really. It's not like I'm dying or anything. I'd know it if I were-"

More hacking coughs and drops of blood interrupted him. Rachel's grip tightened.

"I'm calling Percy. Or Chiron," she nodded, "Or maybe Apollo. Yeah. I think-"

Nico shook his head violently. He had nightmares about Apollo being anywhere near him when he was helpless.

"Just give me a minute," she hauled him back, "I'll get you to the couch and-"

"Rachel," he dug in his heels, "I just overexerted myself. I'll be fine."

"You're _coughing up blood in my kitchen sink!"_

"Still. I'll be fine."

"You guys faint when you do too much. You don't-"

"Gods, Rach. Give it a rest. I'll be fine by tomorrow," he cleared his throat and spat out the last of the blood, and opened the sink pipes. "Honest. It's one of those Child of the Underworld things. We have a sacred duty to be creepier than any other type of demigod."

He was pretty sure she wasn't convinced, if the deathwatch she kept over him for the rest of the night was any indication.

* * *

**Secret**

He squinted at the title, and managed to somehow decipher the cursive script.

Rachel flushed on the spot. She _knew _she should have kicked the book under the couch/thrown it out of the nearest window or something, but then he'd have been sure to be suspicious. So she'd acted completely unruffled, confident that he wouldn't want to know what she was reading…

He looked at her in utter disbelief for a second or two, before his face was taken over by a malicious grin.

Rachel leapt out of the couch, fully intending to throw the damn book out of the window before he could get at it, but Nico hadn't survived for a while now without being considerably quick on the uptake. Ten seconds later, she was on the floor with her hair frizzier than usual, and he was reading the blurb on the book.

_ oh please just let the dyslexia act up. _

No such luck.

He looked at her again and let out a snort before -_ohgods- _reading it out aloud.

"The alluring beauty Chantelle has sworn to never lend her heart to any man again, shadows of her tragic past forcing the bewitching brunette to-"

She dived for the book and he lifted it out of her reach. Rachel made a mental note to ask one of the children of Hecate for a shrinking potion next time she was anywhere near Long Island.

"- hide her true self from the rest of the world. But that was before the handsome business tycoon with a reputation for getting exactly what he wants entered into the picture. Peitro-" he blinked, "_Pietro?_ You cannot be reading this crap."

"Give me back my book," she told him, "and stop holding things over my head, dammit!"

"Shortstuff," he commented, before clearing his throat and reading again, "Pietro very much wants the ravishing vixen in his bed, and he is-"

"How can you read like that? You're supposed to be dyslexic! And give it back!"

He didn't, of course. And she had to suffer through what seemed like hours of torture as he read out freaking _excerpts_ from the thing, punctuated by hysterical laughter. It probably meant she should be hiding her Harlequin collection.

**

* * *

Rant**

"Really, Rachel. You're just taking it too far now. Do you know that boy sneaked into the party? The doorman swears he never let someone like than in. And no wonder either. The boy was wearing a shirt with skulls on it, Rachel. _Skulls!_"

"Uh-huh." Rachel twirled the brush across the canvas. Maybe a touch of Prussian. Unless Viridian would work better. Olive, on the other hand…

"I demand you kick him out this instant! Do you know what the society pages say about this?!"

"No, Mom. I subscribe to Art magazines."

"They think you're abusive! And devoid of all common sense!"

"Really? The same people who one followed Dominique wharshername into the-"

"Stay on topic, Rachel! Just _look_ at the boy!"

"I like what I see."

"He's bad news! The black, and that skull ring! I wouldn't be surprised if he does things like- like ritual sacrifices to raise the dead or something-"

"Um."

"He doesn't- _Rachel!_"

She sighed and scowled at the canvas. She'd never hear the end of this now.

**

* * *

  
**


	2. 11 to 15

**Author's Note**: Next set's up. Note that I've liberally borrowed concepts from all of Kioko's Rachel/Nico stories. And just in case you haven't read them, please do. They're worth it.

**

* * *

**

**Perky**

"_Yiyyiypyipyipyip!" _something tugged at his book briefly, _"Yip!"_

Nico looked down, and met with a hideously pink aneroxic poodle wagging his tail at him furiously.

It yipped again at his attention, and proceeded to bite at it's foreleg. He transferred his look to Rachel.

"What," she demanded, rubbing her arms, "It's my _mom's_ new pet."

"What's it doing here, then?"

"It doesn't get along with Mimosa. So she dumped it on me."

The poodle wagged a naked little tail and attacked his book. Nico tugged it out of the thing's reach.

"Mimosa?"

"Her chihuahua. The one with the ruby collar and no tolerance for dog biscuits."

Nico digested this for a second. "Have I told you how your family is _actually _crazier than mine?"

Rachel snorted, "Just deal with it for a while, okay? I'll make sure Mom does something. Soon. That thing's got way too much energy for something that size."

The poodle, affronted at being ignored, leaped for Nico's book and clamped it's jaws around the general vicinity. It managed to snag his small finger.

"_Ow! _Let it go, you little lunatic!" Nico shook his hand violently to dislodge the thing, "Is this something your Mom cooked up to get rid of me?"

"Please. You're not worth her time. Besides, that's a genuine pedigree. I doubt she'd buy one just to run you off."

Nico wasn't convinced, especially when the thing got excited and se off a series of high-pitched yips again.

**

* * *

Crude**

Nico sorted through the spice rack, wondering where on earth the red pepper was. Then he heard the sound of a sharp object hitting soft, cuttable things. The sheer lack of rhythm made him wince.

"What," he demanded, "are you doing?"

Rachel stared down at the knife, the cutting board, and the minced vegetable pieces, and raised an eyebrow.

"Is that a trick question?"

"You're hacking at them! How hard can it to be to _cut_ the things properly?"

"Are you going all nagging housewife on me?" Rachel put a hand on her hip, "Is this a side-effect of all the cooking?"

"Which I wouldn't have to do if you could cook something halfway edible."

"I'm an _heiress,_" Rachel threw up her hands, "I'm not_ supposed_ to know how to cook; and besides, I got along just fine on my food before you moved in. It wasn't _that_ bad."

Nico stared at her for a moment, then returned to the spice rack muttering under his breath. She thought she caught _food poisoning._

"Honestly," Rachel muttered to herself in retaliation, "He's fussier than _Mom_ sometimes."

**

* * *

Scare**

"_My dear," his voice was deeper than she'd ever heard it being before, and the sound of it made her knees go weak, "does it matter how you are mine, so long as you are mine?"_

_She wanted to protest, tell him that there was a world of difference between a loved wife and a kept mistress, but with the descent of those sensuous lips on hers, her mind went into an infinity of bliss-_

"_The Sicilian Tycoon's Virgin Mistress? _You have _got_ to be kidding me."

She yelped and fell off the bed, wishing for the millionth time the guy came with a set of very noisy bells tied around his neck.

**

* * *

Divine**

"Sho," Rachel leaned forward, vaguely aware that something was wrong with her voice, "Does nectar tashe better'n thish? Huh, does it?"

Across the coffee table and the monopoly board, Nico blinked owlishly at her, then scrunched up his face as he gave it some serious consideration.

"Can't say," he finally decided, "Mushtbe 'bout the same."

"Whys it that you shlur? Am I shlurrin?"

Nico nodded in affirmative, and struck the nearly empty bottle between them with an accusing glare. It didn't go that well with the dopey face, so Rachel giggled.

"You look wei'd."

"You look pshy- I'mean, psychotic."

"That's jusht because you won' tell me 'bout nectar," Rachel vaguely waved a hand around her head, "How'sh it taste?"

"Good," Nico told her.

"Oh comeon," Rachel wheedled, "I can't taste it; tell me speshifically!"

"Specifically, it's… good."

"Moron," Rachel decided sleepily, then slumped over the monopoly board. Nico shrugged and followed her example.

**

* * *

Beluga**

"Sunny day, blue sky, private beach, a picnic hamper by Sally Jackson," Annabeth gave a little sigh of pure bliss. "Things may not get any better than this."

Next to her, Rachel adjusted her sunglasses to get a better view.

"You forgot the eye candy," she motioned to Percy Jackson, shirtless and proportionately gorgeous, "Have you noticed how he looks particularly good in and around water?"

"It's me. Yes, I've noticed," Annabeth replied, "And just so you know, that is _my_ eye candy. Go stare at Nico."

Rachel's smile evaporated, and she glanced behind her. Tucked safely beneath the shade of a palm tree and fully dressed, complete with shoes and a straw hat, Nico scowled back.

"Tell deadboy to get his shirt off," Annabeth yawned, "then we'll call it even, and you can stare all you like at Percy."

"Nico, get that shirt off! Annabeth's killing my fun."

"No!" he shouted back.

"You're part Greek god, not vampire. You'll live." Rachel told him.

"I'm not coming out into direct sunlight."

What the hell, she'd already made the vampire reference.

"Are you afraid you'll sparkle?"

"_What?"_

"Never mind," Rachel sighed, rubbing her nose. Demigods had no concept of popular literature, "Can you just stop being a baby and take the shirt off already? Or at least the hat? Do you have any idea how weird that looks?"

"Do you have any idea how much I'd rather not _be_ here?"

"Nico, get the damn shirt off already," Annabeth joined in, "I don't like half my eye-candy staying bundled up, and besides, you could really use the tan."

"No."

"Yes," Annabeth said, "You're pasty. Now get the shirt off or I'll come do it for you."

"Percy, your girlfriend's sexually harassing me!"

Rachel pondered on that, and figured she couldn't let Annabeth outdo her in that field. Which was why she ended up forcibly wrestling Nico to the ground while Annabeth cheered her on and Percy pretended to gag in the background.


	3. 16

**Author's Notes**: I know, I know. This is just one theme. But I'm facing a whole snowballing load of work right about now... which means not much time to write; and I got struck by this between things and I hate leaving anything languishing in my computer and oh my god this sentence is run-on...

Look at it this way. At least I updated.

**

* * *

Memory**

Rachel considered her palette, then picked the most violent shade of red she'd mixed up. A few strokes on canvas later, she scowled again, and tried to mix a deeper, darker red. Whatever it took to remind the viewer of hell and damnation and mind-numbing horror-

Someone squealed enthusiastically from the adjoining room, and she gritted her teeth. She hadn't been to the Underworld _(yet)_ but there was no way it could possibly be worse than Clarion Ladies Academy before a major party night. The sheer amount of estrogen clouting the air was enough to suffocate any sane person.

Accompanying squeals slammed into her ears like a sledgehammer, and she groaned. What the _hell_ had she been thinking, agreeing to this?

"Uh, Rachel?"

"Aaaah!" she somehow tripped over the own feet and landed on the floor, splattering the room with random splashes of paint.

"What the- don't _do_ that!" she snapped, pushing her hair out of her eyes and glaring at Nico, who was obviously trying not to grin, "would it kill you to knock?"

"Sorry," he shrugged, "I just travelled right into your room, so-"

"And you see nothing _wrong _with that?" she asked him, "What if I'd been changing?"

"Oh."

"Yes. Oh. What do you want, dead boy?"

"Um, it's not me, it's Chiron," he said, a little awkwardly, "There's something weird going on at camp and we need you."

Rachel gathered her palette and got up, "Tell them to wait for a couple days. That's when this place shuts down."

"But-"

"If I disappear now, people are going to notice, and I'm already in trouble from the time I sneaked out and helped with that _dracnae _plague. My Dad'll- well, I don't know what he'll do, but I'll end up being miserable, whatever it is. And just so you know, I'm done with my misery quota for the next decade," she winced as another squeal shot through the air, "I hate this place."

"But I'm supposed to bring you back-"

"No."

"Chiron-"

"No."

"Percy's-"

"Nuh-uh," Rachel stated, "If you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my painting." She turned back to the canvas.

"You're the freaking Oracle, you're not supposed to act like this!" Nico burst out, "Rachel, camp _needs_ you, okay? It's not option! Now quit acting like a five-year old and _come on!_"

Rachel sagged. Ah well, it'd been worth a try. Even though all she'd accomplished was getting yelled at by a twelve-year old.

"Fine, fine," she told him, "Just give me a minute to barricade the door." She could probably rope Apollo into giving her a lift back tomorrow morning, and with any luck people would assume she was sulking in her room.

"Good."

"You're really arrogant for a twelve-year old. You know that, right?" she moved her dresser in front of the door. It helped that she'd put it near it for exactly that reason.

"I'm thirteen!"

"Is there a difference?" she asked brightly, stacking the dresser with her paints, of which there was a lot.

"Just- just hurry up. You're annoying, you know that?"

She topped her barricade off with her heaviest unfinished canvas and allowed him to spirit her away.


	4. 17 to 18

**Author's Notes:** Um, yeah. Horribly short again, I know. You have to love drabbles; they give you such a perfect excuse to pander to your laziness; which, by the way, is probably the reason I haven't updated my multi-chapter fics. They require considerably longer chapters.

**

* * *

Age**

"So, who exactly is the pedophile here?"

Rachel stopped dragging her canvas across the floor, "Excuse me?"

"You know," he said, grinning, "The whole age issue? Either I'm sixty years older than you, or I'm four years younger. Who's the pedophile?"

Okay. This was not happening. She'd had enough of this debate with every damn person in the world.

"So?" He asked, so innocently that it made her want to grit her teeth, "It's a pretty weird situation, isn't it? What do you think?"

"I think you're being annoying because I dragged you into helping me clean up. Real mature, by the way."

"This," he plopped down his canvas and waved at the mess that was her studio, "might be worse than the Aegean Stables. I can't be sure."

"Like I care. You stay here without paying rent, you're obliged to help me out without complaint," Rachel grunted and shoved the canvas against the wall. This classification thing was taking a while.

"You'll just mess it up again anyway. I can't see the point."

"You're slave labour. Who said you had to?"

He scowled at her, and she had an urge to go pinch his cheeks, just to make a point. Or she would have, if he hadn't been so damn tall. She _really _needed to get that shrinking potion one of these days.

Ah well.

"The blue-y painting at the centre, pile on the right," she instructed. He rolled his eyes, but complied.

**

* * *

Alcohol**

"Vodka?" he wondered.

"Too obvious. She'd hate it."

"Wasn't that the point?"

"Not exactly," Rachel slumped on the floor next to him, "Because that'd mean her yelling at me again and quite frankly I have enough on my plate warding off all her arguments about you."

"Oh. Sorry," Nico said, feeling slightly guilty, "Champagne, then?"

"Too obvious, again. Besides, there's a possibility of it being shortened to _Champ. _Can you imagine 'Champ'?"

The poodle was happily chasing it's own tail, occasionally taking time off to jump at Nico's fingers, which were being held tantalizingly in front of it's nose. If all the pink and the obvious dimness hadn't been a dead giveaway, the look of sheer triumph as it almost caught it's tail would have confirmed it. _Champ_ was not the right name here.

"Point taken," Nico mulled over it for a few moments before throwing his hands up (the poodle jumped in tandem), "Why can't we go with something normal? Snuggums or whatever?"

"Snuggums?"

"It's a pink poodle, Rach. Obviously, we can't use _Killer_."

"Mom wants something that'll go with Mimosa. You know, alcohol-like?" Rachel said, "And please don't ask me the logic behind it. It's not like Mimosa is going to let that thing come anywhere near it for anything."

"Mimosa has more sense than we do," Nico pulled his hand away as the poodle snapped at him again, then proceeded to stare at him not with chagrin, but with adoration, "I really think this is a defective poodle. It comes _after_ me. Most sane animals avoid me."

"Poor baby," Rachel said unsympathetically, "Stop fishing for sympathy, we need to get this done by today. What about Margarita?"

"Too girly."

"Whiskey?"

"Weird."

"Brandy?"

"Whatever. Hey, could you pass over the cushion? I think it wants to bite something…"

* * *

**End Notes:** Suggestions for themes/topics/ideas are welcome. More than welcome, really. Apparently, I'm stuck again.


	5. 19 to 21

**Author's Notes:** For some reason, all I could think today of was the sheer opposition this pairing would face. Makes them all the more interesting, of course. I wanted to add Hades in too, but I thought I'd give them a break for a while. :)

Many thanks to general zargon for the prompt. It helped a lot.

**

* * *

Setup**

"Yeah?"

Dylan Kelley looked at the boy. And _boy_ it was. The kid looked like he was barely out of his teens; if he remembered correctly, Warren Dare had told him he was four years younger than Rachel; which put him about a decade younger than himself.

"I'm here to see Miss Dare," Dylan walked in, ignoring the way the boy's eyebrows rose up. "Her mother asked me to escort her to the Rowitzer fundraiser."

He calmly seated himself on the living room sofa and waited, dismissing the boy's existence. Rachel had seemed like such a sensible woman too, on the cruise. This whole dating black-loving kids with identity problems thing seemed so out of character for her. Probably just a phase.

"I don't think she mentioned that," the boy said, walking back into the room.

"I don't think she had to," Dylan raised an eyebrow, "I'm quite sure you don't occupy every living aspect of her life."

The guy stiffened, then rubbed the bridge of his nose, obviously trying to control himself. Dylan hoped he wouldn't have to use any force here; for the most part, the kid was just at the wrong place with the wrong woman.

"Her parents put you up to this?"

Dylan didn't answer. The kid rubbed his nose again, "Right. Beneath your notice. I get it," he dropped down to the love seat next to him and picked up the remote, "Rachel isn't here, by the way."

That made him look up.

"She's in New Jersey for something artsy. I'm guessing this is a last minute thing Mrs. Dare set up. Just to warn you, she isn't going to be happy."

A sudden loud noise interrupted the monologue. It seemed to come from… outside?

"At all."

Rachel came into the room a few moments later, carrying huge bags and muttering darkly under her breath. This was a side of her Dylan hadn't seen anytime during the cruise. Not much of a surprise there; hair flying wildly and eyes flashing made the Dare heiress look at least slightly demented. Ruth Dare would not have stood for it.

"You're here," she said shortly when she saw him, "I need to get dressed. Wait there and don't even think of moving. Nico, my Mom-"

The kid raised a hand, not taking his eyes off from the TV, "Heard it already."

"Right. This does not mean cancellation of our plans. I'll learn to make spaghetti sauce today if it's the last thing I do. Wait up and entertain yourself; I'll be back by nine," she addressed the last bit at Dylan, "Is that clear?"

He was nonplussed, but he had time to look only mildly confused before she stormed off into what was presumably her room.

Nico snorted, "I'm a goner, man. I'd suggest you get out of this mess before it's too late. Dating her is _hell._ And I should know."

_Something_ told him he wasn't seeing the whole picture here.

**

* * *

Furnishings**

"This nonsense has gone far enough!"

Nico idly scraped his foot over the carpet, and pressed his ear closer to the keyhole. Not that he needed it, the voices were loud enough to carry over clearly to where he was standing.

"I've indulged you enough," Warren Dare continued in a tone that demanded meek acquiescence, "I've looked the other way on your tantrums, I've _allowed_ the boy to stay here, mooching off you. Rachel, it's obvious. He's after your money, not you."

She was not going to like that.

"Daddy, stay _out_ of my life, all right? I'm twenty-four! I don't need you hanging around-"

"You're shirt's unbuttoned," Mr. Dare interrupted her, "And you're not wearing anything underneath, are you?"

Oh boy. She was_ really_ not going to like that.

"Dad!" Rachel positively shrieked, "I can't believe you just- that's not the- Dad! You _have_ to stop coming in like this and-"

"I pay the rents on this place, Rachel!" Mr. Dare shouted back, "I have some right to say what happens here-"

"Stop butting into my _life, _Dad! You don't have the slightest clue about what I want-"

"What I know, Rachel, is that you don't need a… gold digger bleeding you for whatever you're worth! If you don't kick him out I will-"

"Do what, Daddy, hire mob goons to do it for you?" Rachel laughed, "That'll be fun to watch."

He really hoped the guy wouldn't. Dealing with mortals twice his size without weapons could be tiring.

"I don't _need_ to hire anyone to take care of that little brat, Rachel. I can do it-"

"Yourself? Dad, he's about a foot taller than you are. I'd love to see you try. Especially considering the potbelly."

_Ouch. _

"Mind your manners, young lady! You're talking to your Father here, and I've had _enough_ of your-"

Nico wondered he should walk in and offer some support. Warren Dare was pretty scary for a mortal, but Rachel could be a lot scarier, especially when she was projecting her anxieties at him. She had a tendency to break open Chinese vases, for a start.

_Crash!_

Like that. Really, what was he expecting when he fell for an heiress? Complete sanity?

"Rachel, stop-"

"They're fucking ugly, and it's either break them or fly at _you_-"

"That boy is a bad influence-"

"He can't be any worse than _you!" _

Another crash.

"Be reasonable-"

"I'm trying, Dad! But you won't _listen_ to me! And don't even get me started on Mom! I've known Nico since I was fourteen! I think I know him a bit better than either of _you_-"

_Crash!_ And he didn't even remember a third vase.

Also, she'd started with the _you_s. That was worse than the vases. He should probably leave now.

**

* * *

Rules**

She was sort of caught up in the whole I-can't-figure-out-where-he-starts-and-I-end-thing, so she had to yelp when she opened her eyes and saw Apollo draped over the couch, arms crossed and looking at them with half-closed eyes.

"_Meep!"_ she pushed Nico away so hard, he landed on the floor.

"What the- Rachel!" He glanced around and saw Apollo, "Oh."

"Don't _do_ that!" Rachel yelped, doing up her buttons at warp speed. Apollo, the pervert, didn't even have the decency to look away, "How long have you been there, anyway?"

"Long enough to enjoy the view," Apollo said brightly, "You have a birthmark on your-"

"_Please_ don't finish that sentence," Rachel moaned.

Apollo shrugged, and transferred his look to Nico, amused indulgence giving way to sheer annoyance. Rachel resisted the urge to throttle herself.

"Lord Apollo. Hi," Nico got up, shooting her a Look, "I didn't know you came in."

"Obviously. You would think the Son of Hades has more of a survival instinct."

"Uh. Right," the look on Nico's face suggested he was thinking the same thing. "Um."

Apollo dug himself into the couch and looked her.

"Look, Lord Apollo, I-"

"You _do_ realize your predecessor was cursed by Hades?"

"Um-"

"You do realize he isn't exactly happy about his son cavorting around with a mere mortal? And the Oracle, at that."

"What, really?" Rachel glanced at Nico, "He isn't-"

Nico shook his head violently and shot the couch a desperate look. Rachel reluctantly decided to shelve it for later.

"You do realize that I can't look the other way again if he cursed you into a mummy and-"

"No one's going to curse me. We're playing within the rules."

"_Barely._ Really, Rachel-"

"God, not you too. Why does everyone and their grandmom think they can poke their nose into my-"

"You're not _supposed_ to have a sex life, Rachel."

"You told me it was okay!"

"I said _kissing _was okay. Maybe a little groping. I'm pretty sure I didn't condone full-on…"

And so it went. If having a relationship was like _this_, she hadn't missed out on much all these years.

* * *

**End Notes: **The plea for prompts still stand. If there's any scene anyone would like to see, please tell me. I'll try to work it in.


	6. 22 to 25

**Author's Notes:** Thank you, whoever sent in suggestions. :D They helped a lot, even if it doesn't look like it, and I swear I'll writte a drabble for every scene suggested as soon as I shrug off my inertia.

Be warned of incoherence - this always happens to me about 5/6 chapters into a story. Also, I hope you're familiar with _Dora the Explorer._ Yeah.

**A Pointless Second Note**: I ship Rachel/Nico. You would think this was pretty obvious, but I realized the extent to which I do this when I felt faint after reading a Thalico. I have _never _felt this way about a ship. It's frankly a little unsettling and I _really _hope it's just a phase. Especially as Heros of Olympus will be out soon enough and it's going to be a canonical sink after that. Harmony all over again, I'm sure of it.

But in the meantime; Raico PWNS! XD

**

* * *

Obscure**

He'd observed in silence for a while, and had finally lost the battle to keep his mouth wisely shut.

"Your painting is blurred."

Rachel fought to keep her breathing even. After spending a whole night up finishing her latest project, that was not what she wanted to hear.

"It's neo-Impressionist. It's supposed to be blurry."

"…Are you sure you didn't just mess this up?"

"No."

"It happens to everyone," Nico said reasonably, "I tried to summon ghosts with apple pie once, and everything went haywire. I mean, who knew the dead could get a sugar rush? It took me _weeks_ to clear it up; and _nothing_ ever convinced the crazy old lady she wasn't really seeing a scarecrow with a scythe barreling down on her…"

Rachel (understandably) paused in her work and opened her mouth; then decided to shelve it for later. Clearly, it was for tidbits like this she put up with the arrogant little brat.

"So you're chucking it, right?"

It wasn't the art expertise, for sure.

**

* * *

**

**Race**

"Goddamn you, Di Angelo! If you lose this I am _so_ dumping you," Rachel called out in desperation.

"Is that supposed to be encouragement?" Nico demanded, taking the time to glare back at her, "If you think I'm _worried _about-"

"_Car!_" Rachel screeched, closing her eyes in despair. This was going to be a disaster, she could tell.

Nico swore and swerved to the right, bumping his fender. Someone from the car in question waved an indistinct fist.

Rachel buried her face in her hands. She could practically _hear_ Percy and Annabeth howling with laughter.

"I'm driving next time," she _stated_ in the calmest voice she could manage, "And don't even _try_ to argue."

"It's not my fault if you distracted me," he grumbled, eyes fixed on the road.

"Distrac- oh, that is just pathetic. That excuse is even worse than something _Percy _would come up with." Rachel thought she heard Annabeth snort in the distance.

Nico didn't find it quite so amusing, "Rachel, _shut up._"

Rachel wasn't very pleased to hear that either, "Nico? Grow up."

"You know, if you would just _stop_ harping on about the age thing every couple of seconds-"

"_What? _ The fact that you need to act a little less like a juvenile delinquent has _nothing_ to do with how old you are!"

"Don't you _ever _shut-"

"_Car!" _Rachel screeched again, a little too late this time.

Their car crashed, and burnt. And went up in a fireball with a miniature mushroom cloud above it. In the gaming booth next to them, Percy and Annabeth hi-fived each other, the smug little bastards.

Nico rested his head on the steering control, "_Vlacas_."

"Next time," Rachel muttered, "_I'm _driving."

**

* * *

Pets**

Ruth Dare sauntered into her daughter's apartment unannounced, and Rachel didn't need her premonition-superpowers to know that something was going to go down.

"Rachel!" her mother said, holding out her hands and beaming.

Rachel tried her best to turn the attempted air-kiss into a real one, and partially succeeded. Her mother's smile when they broke apart was slightly less brighter.

Ruth Alicia Dare was dressed in an elegant pantsuit, and her hair was perfectly styled as usual. She carried a handbag that had probably cost enough to pay Rachel's college tuitions for a term, and from which a tinny little growl erupted. Rachel shot it a look of deep loathing.

"Please tell me you didn't bring that thing."

"Mimosa?" Her mother looked only mildly shocked. Rachel figured that had to be the botox showing.

"Yeah, Mom. I'm talking about the psycho chihuahua. You know I don't-" she stopped before her mothers eyes widened further, battling the urge to groan, "Forget it. Why're you here, Mom?"

Ruth smiled again, but Nico interrupted her from the kitchen before she could say anything.

"Rachel," Nico yelled, appearing at the kitchen door, "Would you get this idiot poodle out of here? It's getting hair all over my-"

The look on his face when he spotted her mother was priceless, and when Rachel sneaked a look at her mother, her expression at finding Nico in an apron was almost as good. It took barely two seconds before both of them turned meaningful glares in her direction.

Rachel made a vague wavy motion with her hands, unsure who she was trying to placate; and just praying she wasn't going to burst out into giggles.

"The poodle probably has a pedigree better than yours," Ruth snapped at Nico once she was sure her daughter wasn't going to help.

Nico scowled back and folded his arms. Over the apron, which ruined the effect slightly.

"Have you come to take it back?" Nico demanded, "You-"

"I don't take back gifts," her mother snapped back at him, then turned to her, "Rachel dear, isn't she a darling? You aren't going to give her up, are you?"

"Umm…well…" Over time, Rachel had learnt to distrust any instance where she agreed with her parents. In the long run, everything had a tendency to backfire.

Although _darling_ probably wasn't the right term here. It was some sort of… unquenchable fascination for annoyance, or something. Percy had spent an evening in the flat and privately told her the poodle's enthusiasm reminded him vaguely of Nico when they first met. Picturing that had given Rachel many moments of hysterical laughter.

"I knew it!" Ruth said triumphantly, shooting Nico a victorious look. She air-kissed Rachel successfully and practically skipped out of the apartment, leaving them both staring after her.

Merlot the pink poodle butted Nico's left leg, and he idly bent down to scratch it's ear before remembering that he was _cooking, _dammit.

"Rachel, could you _please_ take him?" Nico gently booted Merlot out of the way, "And what was all that about, anyway?"

Rachel rubbed her head, "I have ideas. But if I believed them, I'd have to admit my Mom's airhead status."

There was a look.

"Even more than now, okay? Come're, boy."

Merlot reluctantly padded over to Rachel, shooting a mournful look at Nico, who couldn't hide a guilty wince. The idiot poodle had him firmly wrapped around it's insipid little head.

**

* * *

Popcorn**

He woke up in the middle of the night, and saw lights.

Nico yawned, rubbed his head, and dragged himself into the living room. Rachel was sitting on the sofa, clutching somewhat desperately at a bowl of popcorn and staring intently at the television screen. Her eyes were a little glazed.

Nico looked at the TV and winced. This was one of the bad ones, then.

"I don't want any sarcastic comments," Rachel told him when he sat down next to her. The words would have been comforting if they hadn't been spoken so quietly.

"Sure," he agreed, taking a handful from her bowl. He couldn't resist casting it a wary look.

"It's popcorn, deadboy," Rachel muttered, "You can eat it without pulling a face, trust me."

Nico, on reflex, opened his mouth to make a snide comment about burning eggs, but stopped when Dora the Explorer started singing her map song on the TV. It was probably not a good thing, he mused, that he knew the words off by heart.

"Did you just hum?" Rachel wondered.

"No," Nico denied it. There were some thresholds he was _not_ going to cross.

They watched in silence as Dora and Boots went in search of their rubber ducky, crossing bubble bridge and scrubber wood in an attempt to reach the soapy volcano.

"Did you just hum?" Nico asked, once they were past scrubber wood and Dora and Boots started singing the where-are-we-going song.

Rachel stated that she hadn't with as much dignity as she could muster.

Dora and Boots eventually found their rubber ducky. Rachel sighed and slumped back into the sofa.

"Why can't something like that happen in real life?" she wondered, "Why do actual quests have to be so…"

"Rach?"

"Remember Damien from the Aeolus cabin?"

"Oh."

"Dead," she confirmed, pressing her head to his shoulder, "A fifteen-year old kid. On something I predicted."

Nico hugged her to him with one arm, and leaned his head over hers. Rachel buried her nose in his pyjama top.

"Remind me why I'm on this gig again?" she asked, her voice muffled. Dampness soaked through his shirt, "Sending kids off to horribly graphic deaths?"

"Don't question the Olympians, Rach. It never leads to anything."

"_Fucking_ unfair."

"Tell me about it. But at least we get to have the cool magic powers."

Rachel hiccuped. It happened when she tried to cry and laugh at the same time.

"You have a weird sense of priorities, Di Angelo," she said, burrowing in closer.

"I'll take what I can get," Nico muttered back, hugging her to him.

After a while, they switched channels to watch _Friends _reruns, and no one had any need to deny the humming.


	7. 26 to 27

**Author's Note**: I know, I know; it's short. My excuse- I've been under a case of mild depression for a few days, and I have two half-written oneshots with no real conclusions in sight. I figured I needed to post something or slam my head repeatedly against the nearest wall.

If anyone's interested in the Valentine thing, check out my oneshot 'Of Pink and Poetry.' I promise it's a *lot* longer than this.

Eve, thanks for the prompts. :)

**

* * *

Lavender**

"So, where's your boyfriend?"

Rachel, who'd been in the middle of her fifth prospective sketch in surrealism, looked up with a wince. She'd known Jeanne had been itching to say something from the moment she'd walked in through the door. It had been two hours since then, and her fidgeting had only increased.

"He's around," Rachel said as nonchalantly as she could manage. It was technically true, even.

"Around?"

"He's sort of caught up in something involving his stepmom," Rachel nudged the flowerpot, just to make sure it was there, "He'll be back eventually."

"Okay, then," Jeanne said, adjusting her sketchbook and gesturing towards the coffee table, "It's just, you know. There was that whole Valentine thing, and there're those roses and I thought I could actually meet him for once."

"You're not missing out on much," Rachel assured her, "And the roses are from one of my Dad's business partners. Nico's not very good with flowers."

"Really?"

"He hates 'em," Rachel nudged the flowerpot again, "They tend to wilt within two feet of him."

"I see. Um… the lavender seems to have survived."

"Yeah," Rachel regarded the flowerpot critically. Were there less petals now than there had been two hours ago? Did that make it worse or better than the dandelion crisis? Crisises? Crisisi? Hang Latin plurals, anyway.

"Jeez, Rachel. Can you stop being so cryptic?"

"The Oracle thing tends to rub off on you."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Do you like the lavender? It's cute, isn't it?"

"What does the lavender have to do with anything?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you.

**

* * *

Pain**

"Isn't there some sort of cure for this?" Nico asked. He'd wanted to demand, but asking was pretty much all he could go for now.

"Burnt toast, I think," Rachel whispered back, "And stop shouting. My head hurts."

Nico grunted. To roll his eyes and reply that his head hurt as much as hers did and it was all her fault in the first place anyway…

Frankly, he got tired even thinking of not thinking it. Ow.

"Do we have burnt toast?" He asked.

"Who knows?" Rachel said, her head slumping back onto the Monopoly table, "I can't believe we got wasted over Monopoly."

"I keep telling you- you take it entirely too seriously."

Rachel grunted, "I vote scrabble."

"I'm dyslexic… even thinking the word gives me a headache," Nico mumbled, _"Ow."_

"We wouldn't have got wasted if you hadn't argued over the whole Mayfair-vs.-ParkStreet thing."

"Park Street?"

"Park something. Who even care- _ow,_" Rachel winced as something drove a spike through her head, "Seriously, ow."

"I can't even argue," Nico observed with disbelief.

"That settles it," Rachel muttered, "We ban Monopoly."

"_Ow._ Seconded."


	8. 28 to 31

**Subject**

"Would you _please_ stop fidgeting?"

This was something thirteen-year old guys in general found hard to do. Nico was no exception; it had even stopped mattering that it was _Rachel_ who could get annoyed with him here.

"Aren't you done yet?" He demanded.

"I would be," Rachel rolled her eyes, "If you could just hold still. And I need your face in profile, not front view."

Nico gritted his teeth and turned his neck again. His neck ached. Actually, all of him ached. Being an artist's model was hard work.

"Listen; I've got to _go _for-"

"Don't bother. I know you're free for the afternoon," Rachel scribbled another line in that sketchpad of his.

"You _saw _that?" He had no idea the Oracle thing worked that way too.

"Yes. I checked your cabin schedules. Now _hold still._"

For a while the only noise was Rachel scribbling. And as for Nico, his foot tapped, his eyes wandered, and his hands wrung themselves together and apart about a million times.

"Why's it taking so long?" he finally demanded.

"Oh? Probably because I'm doing these multiple sketches-"

_"What?"_ he squawked, "Rachel-"

"Relax, I'm done anyway," she shot him the smile which was the only reason he'd agreed to this in the first place, "Thanks."

"About time," he muttered, hoping he wasn't blushing again.

Rachel grinned and walked over to help him up from the rock. Nico winced as she pulled him up; he had pins and needles _everywhere._

"You're so adorable," she said happily, ruffling his hair, "Now all I need is an ugly old crone to complete my phases of life sketches. Know where I can find one?"

"No," Nico said, a little miffed from the ruffling. He hated how people _kept_ doing that. Also, adorable was probably not how he wanted her to see him.

Oh gods, this was so _embarrassing._

"Ah well. I suppose I can't have everything," Rachel said, ignoring his grouchiness, "So; meet me at Thalia's pine in five, and we'll go stuff ourselves on junk food. My treat. How does that sound?"

"It sounds good," Nico admitted, a little reluctantly.

"Then move it, deadboy. Because I don't want anyone saying I don't compensate my models," Rachel declared, "It's a date."

Nico beamed.

**

* * *

**

**Rabid**

He couldn't understand why he got dragged along on things like this. They already _knew_ he would sulk, and they bullied him along despite knowing it. And _then_ they complained about him sulking. Really, there was no justice in this world.

"Would you _please_ let me go back to the car?" he ground out, digging his heels into the sand, "I'll wait there. Happily."

"Nico," Annabeth said, pulling at his arm, "Stop whining. It's just a bit of sun and sand."

"But I get sunburns!"

"Tough," Rachel said from behind him, where she was doing a lot of pushing, "Look, Cullen-"

"And stop calling me that! What is it with you people and vampire jokes?"

"Nico, if you're acting like a vampire," Annabeth had only begun the sentence in her stand-straight-and-listen-because-I-might-just-grant-you-a-bit-of-my-wisdom voice before she stopped. This was surprising, because her lectures usually went on for paragraphs.

Nico took full advantage of the fact and triumphantly wrenched his hand away from her grip. Now he only had to sidestep Rachel… who was staring at the scene in front of them with something like horror…

Nico followed her gaze and froze. Rachel might have whimpered.

Then all hell broke loose.

"Perseus Jackson," Annabeth snarled, "What in the name of Olympus do you think you're doing?"

"Oh boy," Rachel muttered, "He's _so_ screwed."

"The brunette's cute," Nico agreed, "He's dead."

Percy, who had climbed down from his lifeguard's chair to talk to the pretty brunette in the bikini, had to blink a couple of times before he figured out what he'd done this time. By then though, Annabeth had stormed towards him and bodily yanked him away from the girl.

"She just asked me where the snack bar was," Percy protested, "I was just being _polite!_"

"Right."

"Seriously, what is _with _you? Aren't you a little too old for this kindergarden thing?"

In tandem, Nico and Rachel groaned. When it came to Annabeth, there were some things Percy would never learn.

"Kindergarden thing," Annabeth's eyes narrowed, and she jerked a thumb towards the brunette without taking her eyes off Percy, "Beat it, bimbo. Me and my boyfriend have to have a little _talk._"

And from then on, the argument dissolved into the typical Percabeth debate; which was interesting the first few times around, but got repetitive after some time. Rachel and Nico, who'd passed _that_ threshold some time ago, efficiently tuned them out. They had practice at it, after all.

"Hopeless," Rachel shook her head at them, "They'll _never_ settle this; probably be arguing in Elysium too."

"We fight a lot too," Nico said, trying to be fair.

"No," Rachel sniffed, "We snark. We don't argue. There's a big difference. Now are you joining me in the car or do you want them to drag you into that?"

"Car," Nico said firmly, and generously left out the '_I told you so_.'

**

* * *

Hawaii**

Nico wasn't sure how react.

Hysterical laughter was an option, honestly. So was stunned disbelief. And then he could clasp his hands and pray that his Father never, ever got wind of this…

But possibly, that would be counterproductive. There was always the chance that his Father would be the one listening in on his prayers, sometime between placating Persephone, condemning souls and setting new standards for grouchiness…

His Father. Oh _gods._

"Look," Rachel told him, "I'm really, really sorry about this okay? I swear I would have stopped them but I was taking an IM in the bathroom and Apollo was lecturing me again and when I came out," she waved helplessly at his Mythomagic figurine, "It was like _that._"

Nico followed her hand and stared at it.

_Oh_ _gods, _he thought again.

"I chewed them out and banned them from your room for the forseeable future, if it makes you feel better," Rachel said, still pacing, "And we can flake the paint off after it dries. It's celestial bronze, right? It should hold."

Seconds passed in silence. Rachel glanced at his statuette, and winced.

"Sorry. We artists go a little overboard sometimes. Are you all right?"

"Uh. I think I might still be reeling from the shock," Nico managed, even if he had to clear his throat a couple of times. "You do realize the thing _actually_ looks like him, right?"

"Believe me when I say your Dad isn't particularly forgettable."

"Right. So, it looks like him. And it's…umm…"

"Wearing a lei and a hula skirt."

"Yeah. The Lord of the Dead goes Hawaii. Couldn't you guys have found a Poseidon figurine?"

"Uh…"

"I just _know_ I'm going to start laughing when I see him next," Nico predicted, "If my soul gets condemned, it'll all be your fault."

"Sorry," Rachel said again.

The stared at the figurine again.

"Nice paint job, though," Nico said after a while.

"I know. Jeanne is really good at three-dimensional realism."

**

* * *

Pain**

"Well, I called them," Rachel said, walking back to the living room, "They're on the way, but it might take a while."

Nico, who was curled up into a ball of misery near the couch, gave a heartfelt groan. His head hurt, he was pretty sure he had broken a couple of bones somewhere (or at least dislocated them) and worst of all, his _teeth…_

"You are so lucky you can drink nectar," Rachel told him, "Dentures are no fun, just ask my grandma."

He gave her a dirty look.

"What? I can't gloat? I _told_ you to take the damn sword with you."

"'Ss 'eavy," he managed.

"Let's see," Rachel held her hands out to her sides, supposedly imitating a balance, "Possible death or extra weight. Tough one, that."

He glared at her again. It wasn't _his _fault the stupid Stygian iron refused to adopt a smaller form; and did people even realize how hard it was to lug that thing around all the time? Especially considering how most monsters went out of their way to avoid him?

"Don't give me that look," she told him, "You so brought this upon yourself. Even _I_ carry a celestial bronze knife around, and I'm just your regular mortal."

His look this time was disbelieving.

"Well, relatively. Pretty normal compared to the rest of you freaks, anyway."

He snorted, then clutched at his jaw. He was pretty sure it was broken by now.

"And be careful," she sounded irritated, "Stop moving your jaw so much. Do you have any idea how bad you look?"

He probably did; he was feeling it, after all.

"You could have at least stocked up on the nectar and ambrosia. Honestly, Di Angelo; what were you thinking?"

He shrugged, then winced. Rachel sighed.

"And the worst part is, I'm pretty sure you won't give me a coherent answer even after your teeth get regrown. Why do I put up with you again?"

He smiled gleefully at her with the bloody mess he had for a mouth. Rachel rolled her eyes and muttered something about unsolved mysteries.


	9. 32 to 33

**Tourists**

"…And that nice Martin Kingston send over this beautiful bouquet of roses the other day… honestly Rachel; I can't see why you would want to discourage Dylan, but if you're really sure you don't want him…"

Two weeks of this. The gods had better give her the strength to get through it, or Apollo would find himself bereft of another Oracle.

"Mom," Rachel interjected (very patiently) once her mother had paused to catch her breath, "I'm not interested. And besides, you know I'm allergic to roses."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Oh," Ruth frowned, "Well, it's a perfectly natural mistake; after all, how can you expect him to know anything about you when you don't even talk to him? Really Rachel, there are _reasons_ I arrange all those parties…"

"There are reasons I go out of my way to avoid them," Rachel muttered back, though out of her mother's hearing. She heard _that_ and there would be a whole other series of lectures.

She hated how her parents kept blackmailing her into things. They were so damn _sneaky, _and managed to somehow corner her every single time. She could have been dissecting surrealism with the girls, watching people get their butts kicked at camp, hanging out with Annabeth complaining loudly about demigod boyfriends, or even annoying Nico as much as she possibly could. But no. There had been tears, maneuvers, her father glaring at her from over the financial sections of the newspaper and her mother acting rejected.

Before she knew it she'd been cleanly manipulated, and was now tagging along in her mother's wake. For, of all things, her sorority reunion.

Even the fact that she was in _Rome_ didn't make up for it. Her mother had actually relegated sightseeing to an optional extra. _In Rome._

Annabeth, had she been around, would have wept. And not just because her painstakingly alphabetized list-of-buildings-you-_have_-to-visit would never be used either. All fourteen feet of it.

"…it'll be so _much_ fun, Rachel. You're probably going to see your old classmates from Clarion!"

Rachel mumbled. Her mother must have assumed it was something vaguely anticipatory.

"You really should have joined the sorority, dear. Me and my friends have stayed in touch for so long, and they've always been _so_ helpful… but don't worry. After this, I'm _sure_ they will let you in."

Oh gods, no. The one in Clarion had been bad enough. There were Hilton wannabes _everywhere._

Rachel considered giving into hysterics, but she was entirely too tired from the journey to carry off a really good one; and anything less than spectacular would not be able to convey her feelings properly. She was of the firm opinion that any form of artistic work should convey the creator's feelings.

Then she saw them.

They were standing near the exit gates. Annabeth had an almost maniacal grin on her face, and she was waving at Rachel with entirely too much energy. Percy looked traumatized. Nico appeared to be holding onto the railings in an effort not to drop to the ground and drift off to sleep.

"Trust me, Rachel," her mother assured her, looking around for their chauffeur, "You're going to love it."

"It might happen," Rachel conceded. How hard could it be to sneak out of the hotel, anyway?

**

* * *

**

Stories

The thing with demigods was (let's face it) they tended to be attractive. All that godly blood _had_ to count for something other than a low life expectancy and a tendency to be a weirdness magnet. Which was why midway though their Friday night convention, the topic had turned to crushes. Annabeth, for once, was being accommodating about one of Percy's conquests.

"She was so cute," she declared, "Like a little ginger-haired angel. Absolutely adorable! Especially with the pigtails and the missing front teeth."

"She demanded I marry her and join her tea party with the teddy bear and the Barbie doll," Percy shuddered, "It was a _nightmare._"

"It was hilarious," Annabeth corrected him.

"Has a six-year old ever told _you_ she wanted to have your kids?" Percy asked her, "No? Then let me be the judge."

"It was adorable," Annabeth assured Nico and Rachel, "Percy's just biased."

Percy snorted.

Nico cleared his throat, "Well, we once had this homeless guy who went gaga over Rachel. He started composing love poetry and stuff."

"No!" Annabeth said, fascinated.

"Really?" Percy asked.

"There were limericks," Rachel said wistfully, "There was even a ten-line one."

"_How?_"

"I don't know. But I'm positive it was a ten-line limerick, and that it was _horrible._ To this day, I suspect it was Apollo, but he denies it," she rolled her eyes, "Hey, you guys know about Annabeth and the billionaire tycoon? If I had time, I'd write it up as a romance novel and send it over for publishing."

Annabeth groaned.

"_It was a dark and stormy knight aboard the Dare yacht,"_ Rachel recited, _"The beautiful yet brilliant Annabeth Chase, often likened to the daughter of a goddess, leaned over the railing and sighed. Her hands clasped her upper arms as she shivered in the cold ocean breeze, her white sleeveless dress whipped around by the-"_

"It was a pyjama top and shorts!" Annabeth protested.

"You can't put that in a romance novel," Rachel told her, "Now, _this beautiful blonde demigoddess with eyes as grey as the… as the…_as the… dammit!"

"Manhattan smog?" Nico suggested.

"You have no romance in your soul," Rachel told him, "Anyway, _as the blonde demigoddess stared out wistfully into the sea, a warm, strong arm clasped around her."_

"I threw the molesting creep into the water," Annabeth interrupted darkly. "And then he had the _nerve_ to insist that I was playing hard to get."

"Mom banned her from the yacht for the rest of eternity," Rachel beamed, "That makes all three of you. I feel so proud, kiddies."

"So what happened to the guy?" Percy asked

"Is that all you have to say? What happened to the _guy_?"

"Your judo throws can be painful; I think he got the message."

"…I really don't know why I put up with you."

"Keep wondering, Wisegirl," Percy grinned, "So… how many of you know about Nico and the sixteenth-century ghost?"

"Yep,"Rachel said, "That was so disturbingly romantic."

"_Romantic? _What on earth have you been reading recently?" Nico wondered, "I had a ghost _stalking_ me!"

"There were a couple of love notes involved," Percy recalled, "With _prithees _and _thees._"

"And she kept swooning in front of me, for some reason."

"Well," Rachel said, "On the list of strange crushes, that one's-"

"Not as weird as this," Annabeth interjected. "I'm pretty sure about it now that I've thought of it again… but Percy? I think Medusa had a crush on you."

There was a pause.

"What?" Percy said.

"I mean, think about it. She was going on about what a pity it would be to destroy such a handsome face, and you were nowhere near this cute _then…"_

"She was about to _kill_ me!"

"So? Nico's ghost tried to kill him too."

"_Romantic,_ she says," Nico shot a Look at Rachel.

"I did say it was disturbing," Rachel shushed him, "Now what's this about Medusa?"

"Well, it was when we were twelve and Zeus' master bolt was stolen…"


	10. 34

**Notes:** Hi. Um, yeah. Only one of them... so sorry, but all ideas are mutating into incomplete (or less than perfect) oneshots. On that note, if someone could check out _Passionate Declarations_ (which is also a Raico fic; albeit not one I'm entirely happy with), I'd be ecstatic.

* * *

**Indignation**

"Stay away."

Rachel stopped at the kitchen door, and her inborn (or possibly in_bred_, but that word was creepy) snootiness took over.

"Hello? My apartment?" she reminded him, "What gives you the right to commandeer _my_ kitchen?"

"The fact that I've been doing all the cooking around here for the past two months."

Admittedly, he had her there. But Rachel Elizabeth Dare had often been described as determined. Also dogged.

"I cooked the spaghetti last week," she reminded him.

"I'm sorry," Nico conceded, "All the _edible_ cooking around here for the past two months. Happy?"

The door slammed in her face before Rachel could retort, and she had to settle for gritting her teeth. This would _not_ do.

Agreeing to let the nineteen-year old Son of Hades room in her freakishly huge penthouse apartment had seemed like a good idea at some point. After all, the place was waaay too big to have just one person staying in it, and she knew Nico pretty well from camp. He was a lot less emo than people made him out to be, and would have been the perfect person to have a my-Dad-is-worse-than-your-Dad argument with. Also, he was a halfblood. Things were always more interesting with halfbloods around.

What she _hadn't_ counted on was how forced into constant proximity, their personalities did the dance of the clashing rocks. He was stubborn, so was she. He had a superior streak a mile wide, she gave hell to anyone who even gave the impression of trying to patronize her. He showed all the tact of Typhon on a rampage, she…

Well, frankly, she didn't care much about the tact part. But that was the whole point of a rant; you embellished and exaggerated the subject, one way or the other. Besides, here was a _guy_ who was better than her in the kitchen, _and_ he was about four years younger than she was. It was insulting, to say the least. Oracles had their pride, and hers was quavering in a corner somewhere.

And now, she was getting banned. From her own kitchen.

Obviously, more thought was required before accepting any future roommates.


	11. 35 to 37

**Sunburn**

_Misery._

Yep. That was the operative word here, all right. His back hurt so _bad._ Fall asleep in the sun for one measly hour and he was red all over. The next wide-eyed kid who gushed about how cool it would be to be the son of Hades would so get it.

And the worst part about it all wasn't the pain or the humiliation, it was Rachel's sniggering. There'd be vampire jokes aplenty in the near future, and he didn't have to be her to see that. There would even be comments about sparkles at some point.

"It looks better now," Rachel said, sitting near him on the bed. He didn't have to raise his head to see the grin on her face.

"You're enjoying this," he accused.

"Yes," she admitted shamelessly, nursing her coffee (he considered smashing up her percolator just to annoy her), "You're helpless and unable to snatch my books away when I'm reading them. I can tune you out by simply walking away from the room. And your back isn't exactly something I mind ogling."

"Huzzah," said Nico grumpily.

"Be proud I consider your back ogle-wothy."

"You're preening in my misery. I hate you."

"Hmm…" Rachel set her mug down with a thoughtful expression. "It looks almost normal now, you know."

"It feels like it's burning."

"You're going to be fine, deadboy," Rachel ruffled his hair fondly. "Drama queen."

"And don't do that," he muttered into the pillow. "It's juvenile." Even if her hands tangled in his hair felt nice.

Of course, that made her ruffle his hair harder. Not that it was necessarily a bad thing.

**

* * *

Discrimination**

There were times, Nico decided, when willing the earth to open up and swallow people was very, very tempting.

"Mingling. Talking. Hanging out in the sunlight. Yeah, I got that. Now would you please get over it-"

"No," Annabeth scowled at him, "It's been months since you've been here, Nico; and Chiron says you've barely stepped out of your cabin since summer."

"I have too," Nico bristled at the injustice of the comment, "I've probably travelled over half of Europe by now. Well, a quarter of it…"

"I don't think that's the point she's trying to make," Rachel said dryly from where she was watching the proceedings from one of the empty beds in his cabin.

He directed his glare at her. The last thing he'd expected to encounter when he'd curled up in his cabin with one of the tomes from his father's library was Annabeth storming in with an irritated expression on her face. Rachel had trailed along in her wake, her expression positively fascinated as she took in the black/bones/blue fire deco. _Then _he'd been on the receiving end of a get-out-of-the-damn-bed-and-start-talking-to-people rant, which was _not_ fun.

"What in Hades's name are you two doing here anyway?" he demanded, "I barely know you, no offense. About the only person in this place who has any right to give me a lecture is Percy, and last I checked, both of you lacked some crucial requirements on that field."

Rachel gasped. The gasp was exceedingly theatrical and entirely fake. It went wasted on Nico, though. He was too busy learning the hard way that being on the receiving end of one of Annabeth's narrowed-eyes stares was somewhat… disturbing. Then she turned on her heel and walked out without a word, which for some reason had his ADHD senses (or battle reflexes) on high alert.

"Now you've done it," Rachel proclaimed, shrugging off her shoes and making herself comfortable.

He tried glaring at her but it didn't seem to have any effect. So he settled for pointedly raising his tome so that it covered most of him.

"Go away," he added, just in case she didn't get the point.

"And miss the show? Are you kidding? She's gone to get Percy, probably. She's possibly making him rehearse his speech, as well," she considered it, "I'll say you have about ten minutes before you're assaulted again."

Nico slowly put down the tome and looked at her.

"Percy wouldn't."

"Maybe. But Annabeth can be pretty persuasive," Rachel pointed out, "And you made her mad with the I-barely-know-you thing, so…"

"But I _do _barely know her!" Nico said, "_And_ you, while we're at it. You can't just come barging into a room and start ordering me around like you have every right-"

"Well, what else are we supposed to do? It's not like hanging around you cabin waiting for you to come out is an option," she rolled her eyes, "I get the whole demigod of the dead thing, but I'm sure it doesn't mean you _have_ to spend your life like you're locked up in a tomb."

He scowled.

"At least this way, you get to actually _talk_ to people," she pointed out.

"I talk to people all the time."

"People with heartbeats."

"Them too."

"Sure you do," Rachel said skeptically. "And _I barely know you_ isn't much of an excuse if you don't even make an effort to be around people."

"Would you just-"

Then Annabeth stormed back in dragging Percy along with her, and Rachel settled herself in for the show. Nico groaned.

**

* * *

Sparks**

The only thing worse than being a twenty-four year old girl stuck with an obnoxious roommate, Rachel decided, was being a virginal Oracle in the consistent company of a cute half-Italian demigod. And it was just her luck she was _both_.

The glared at each other, sitting as far apart on the couch as it was possible to sit. The TV remote marked border territory.

"My house," Rachel said, rather calmly. "My TV. My remote. Therefore, me deciding what to put on the TV at any point of-"

"You were channel surfing," Nico said, managing to completely miss the point as usual, "I actually have something to watch."

"A Nat Geo special on embalming processes?" she sneered.

"Weren't you the one who sat through that two-hour thing on pigments throughout the ages?"

She idly considered driving her fist onto his stupidly attractive nose, but there was always the possibility that it might backfire and that she would find a broken nose even more attractive. How would she know? Boys had been more or less out of her radar range for years.

"I'm taking the damn remote, Di Angelo."

"No. I-"

"That was a statement. I wasn't asking for your permission, kid."

"Don't call me kid," Nico snapped, "I'm probably older than your _mother_."

"Then would you stop acting like you're four?"

"_Me?_ I'm not the one who-"

Because this was just a reenactment of similar scenes over the last couple of months, and she already knew it would just dissolve into a two-hour argument where nobody got to watch what they wanted, Rachel leaned over and took the remote.

"You can't do that," he protested.

"My house, my-"

"Dammit, Dare! It's not like I _want_ to be here. _Give."_

"_No,_"Rachel said, insulted that he expected her to actually _obey_ him, "Now go away and do something creepy."

His eyes narrowed, and she had barely two seconds of warning before he dived at her. Rachel yelped and managed to twist at the last second, landing on the floor. She managed to snatch the remote out of his reach before his hands could close over it too. He snagged her arm instead.

"Let go," she demanded.

"Give me the remote!"

"No!"

He lunged, she twisted. There was some confusion, and then he landed heavily on her legs.

"Ow!"

"Oof."

"Get off me!"

"Just give me the damn remote!"

As it turned out, it was perfectly possible to spend an hour tussling over the remote too.


	12. 38 to 39

Like I said, I've been running out of idea, so these two are prompted drabbles. Many thanks to Mission to Marzipan for the second one. :) I wish I could have done more with it. And to general zargon for the first, which was a lot of fun to write. :)

**

* * *

Terror**

It didn't take Rachel much time to realize that she was being followed.

All right, so being seventeen and out in Brooklyn at two in the morning wasn't one of her brightest ideas, but once in a while her feet tended to take her to gloomy places like this. She suspected it was another side effect of hosting the Spirit of Delphi. The thing practically gloried in anything depressing.

Besides, she could deal with most mortal creeps now. They tended to get really freaked out when she stared at them and recited little-known facts about their lives. And if that didn't work, she was _good_ at running. And throwing things accurately at people while running. And there was the pepper spray, and the celestial bronze knife which would probably look like a gun or something to any prospective mugger…

Whatever was following her hissed. Or rather, made a sound something like a mix of a growl, a hiss and a primeval predatory announcement. Rachel didn't even glance back before she started running.

It slithered, and hissed again. She had a feeling that running wasn't going to be much help here, and her feelings were never wrong. And _that_ didn't make sense. If the spirit of Delphi had let it's host go out into certain death, it was really, really slipping up-

The monster hissed/growled again, but in the wrong direction. Someone yelled out a battle charge. Rachel took advantage of the situation to hide behind a dumpster (where she was almost positive it wouldn't be able to smell her), and tried to remember where on earth she'd heard that voice before. She didn't have to ponder for too long, because the answer materialized out of thin air above her and immediately flattened her to the ground.

"Oof."

"Sorry," Nico di Angelo sounded a little dazed, then disgusted "Eugh. Rotten tomatoes."

"Get off me, please," Rachel said evenly, trying very hard not to think about whatever it was she was touching at the moment and even less about what was beyond that.

"Sorry," he said again, and scrambled up. She had to squint to find him again, probably because of all the black he insisted on wearing. Somewhere above them, the thing growled and something moved.

"What," she demanded through teeth two seconds away from chattering, "The hell is that thing?" This whole near-death experience thing might have been unremarkable for a demigod,but she was still getting used to it.

"Giant snake," Nico answered. She thought she heard him sheathing his sword, and that drove up her heart rate a bit, "Are you all right?"

"Not really," she said, "But I think having that sword out in the open will make me feel a lot better. Could you just please kill it already so my knees can stop shaking?"

"Who do I look like, Heracles?"

"Hell, no," she rolled her eyes, "but I thought the Son of Hades thing counted for something."

"That thing's huge and venomous, and I'm not suicidal," Nico might have folded his arms, but it was hard to tell, "We can just wait it out."

"Uh. What if it finds us?"

"It can't smell us over all this garbage, and I can make sure it doesn't see us. What else is it going to do, hear us? It's a snake, for Hades' snake."

"It's a magic snake the size of an eighteen-wheeler. Why on earth would you think it follows normal snake rules?"

"Because it didn't react to my yell."

"Right," Rachel muttered, leaning back against the wall. Her heart was still thumping hysterically, but it seemed better than before. "Thanks, by the way."

"No problem."

**

* * *

Nightmare**

The thing with being an art student was this- sometimes, you had submission deadlines. And sometimes, that meant waking up early in the morning to put finishing touches on your latest assignment. Rachel thought this was grossly unfair and curbed her creative spirit and complained accordingly. Unfortunately, Annabeth had been around at the time and she'd been treated to a two hour lecture on how much more intense it was for Architects, and she really shouldn't complain because her life was a bed of roses by comparison.

Really, that girl just had to win _everything_.

Rachel attempted to rub the sleep from her eyes and succeeded when the bright fluorescent lighting in the kitchen ravaged her eyeballs. Nico looked up from where he was slumped over the kitchen table, decided she wasn't worth his time, and pressed his face into the table again.

"And here I thought you slept like the dead," Rachel said brightly. Being up at four in the morning didn't suddenly seem so bad. So long as she wasn't alone in her misery while he was curled up in a nice, comfortable bed, there was some form of justice going around in the universe. Plus, he'd made coffee, and the worst part of the morning was the part between her dragging herself out of bed and her consuming her first cup of caffeine.

"Shut up," he muttered, "It's too early for bad puns."

"What can I say? You inspire me."

She saw a spasm run through him, probably from the wince. He tried to burrow his face into the able too, which (shockingly enough) did not work. Rachel felt her grin getting wider.

"So," she said (perkily, just to annoy him), "What happened this time? A virtual thunderstorm?"

"Go away," he sighed.

"You can't blame me. I was counting on being up earlier than you for once," Rachel happily poured out her first cup, "I'm understandably curious-" Her voice was abruptly choked off with her first sip, and he looked up. She swallowed with some difficulty.

"I think I'll make another batch," she said, gently putting her mug back on the counter, "Do we have any sugar left?"

He scowled at her.

"No? Doesn't matter, really. Two spoons of sugar or one drop of your coffee- the end result should be pretty much the same."

"Okay, it's a little sweet," he snapped, "Big deal."

"_Little?_ My pancreas are hating me right now."

"You'll survive the trauma," he gulped a mouthful from his own mug, "Go finish up your project already."

Rachel had winced at the mouthful, but then she started to get worried. Anyone would have to be insane to scarf that much sugar in one go. He looked horrible, too- almost corpselike, for real. Even goading him was less satisfying than usual.

Of course, this _would_ happen on submission day. Nico was renowned for his ability to show up on the dot when you were in a tight spot, but he made up for that by having incredibly bad timing for anything else. It was something she'd have to live with.

"That bad, huh?"

He took another sip of liquid sugar and shook his head. She knew better than to fall for it.

"What are you trying to prove here? I already know how tough you are."

He winced and finished his coffee, then held his had out for the percolator. Rachel reluctantly handed it over and watched him drown another batch.

"Look, at least eat something. That much sugar can't be good for you."

"I'm not four," he told her, pouring out his third cup, "I think I'll manage. And besides, I'm not in the mood for burned egg."

"It's crispy," she said, insulted, "Not burnt."

He disagreed and went back to his sugar. It was probably her imagination, but Rachel thought his eyes were a little less sleepy, but a lot more wild.

"Fine," she huffed, "At least let me get you some cereal. You look like you're about to fall over… Nico?"

He'd jumped at _cereal,_ and was now looking at her like she'd just held up a knife to his throat and announced her lifelong intention to murder him. Which really did not make any sense.

"What? What did I say?" she demanded, pulling out a box of whole grain wheat and examining it. So it wasn't the tastiest thing in the world, but something had to balance out all that sugar.

"Put that thing away," he told her.

"If you don't want to eat my cooking-"

"Rachel, put that thing away, dammit. I don't need this right now!" He sounded a little hysterical.

"Stop being a baby," she told him, tipping some into a bowl, "It's cereal, it can't hurt you. Or did you have a nightmare about giant boxes of whole wheat trying to gobble you up?"

There was silence. Rachel froze. Moments passed.

"Just put it away, please," he pleaded, "It's Demeter. She's crazy about the stuff, and I think she's sending me those dreams."

Rachel unfroze herself, and doubled over laughing.

"It's worse than it sounds, okay?" he exploded, "I'm working on a _farm, _and I'm being force fed. And then I complained and- Rachel, I had to eat a literal truckload of the stuff. And it was bland! I think I puked sometime, and I'm sure at least some of it was real. Ish. Stop laughing."

She did, but only after she'd dragged herself out of the apartment. Ammunition like this was well worth waking up for.


	13. 40 to 41

**Notes:**

/waves at everyone in the vicinity/

So, these are not my favourite drabbles, mostly because they got into PJOverse theory and becaue confusing. But it's this or this collection getting shunted off into the dark for the forseeable future.

The dazzlingly lovely **SydneyLouWho** looked over this chapter for typos. Any illogicality you spot is not her fault, since I told her not to bother looking over the rest of it because I wasn't really sure about it my-

Ahem. Anyway.

The second drabble has references. People who spot where they come from get a cookie.

* * *

**Research**

Over the years, Persephone had started to warm up to Nico.

These days, he only had to be her personal slave for about half the time he spent in the Underworld. And she made a point of sending him to Rachel's to be cared for immediately after he got turned into a plant.

Rachel had been sympathetic for the first few months, but had quickly tired of waking up to a wilting dandelion. At least until Persephone decided that constantly being a dandelion had to boring and started turning him into a different flower each time.

Rachel had approved. Initially for the variety and later for realizing that she could truthfully tell her parents that Nico made sure she was sent flowers on a regular basis. The 'truthfully' was important. She'd discovered that since becoming the Oracle, attempting to tell an outright lie was like getting your teeth pulled out. It hurt almost as much too.

If that wasn't enough of an advantage, she'd later discovered that Nico retained vague memories of his time as a flower; mostly things like "Oh my gods, it's hot and I'm about to die_ now_". But that, Rachel had realized, was exactly what she wanted.

And so she'd made a request. Nico had looked at her like she had been a figment of his imagination and stomped off to Hades. Roughly twenty-four hours later, she'd been treated to a pretty shrub of pale purple flowers in small clay flowerpot.

When Nico finally changed back and walked out of the bedroom (and presumably the bathroom) sneezing and toweling his hair, Rachel was doodling on her sketchpad. She looked up and waggled her eyebrows at him.

He ignored her.

"Did you even bother to _ask_?"

"You are unbelievable," he announced, plopping down on a couch opposite to hers.

"Practical," she corrected, "Your stepmom turning you into a plant is a bimonthly event. What's wrong with wanting to get some use out of it?"

"… The fact they you're trying to profit from my misery?"

"That would make it _less_ of a misery."

"Not for me," Nico rubbed a hand over his face, "And besides, I am not going to _try _getting turned into a flower named 'fairy slipper'. Just…no."

"Are you insecure in your masculinity?"

"I don't want to get turned into a fairy slipper," Nico repeated. Firmly.

"It's an orchid, Nico."

"I don't want to get turned into an orchid, either," he said, exasperated, "I was perfectly happy being a dandelion. I hate this variety thing."

"I thought you hated being a dandelion," Rachel pointed out, "Because I distinctly remember you bitching and whining and being all 'Cinderella had it easy with her stepmother!' a couple of years ago.

"…Would it surprise you to know that I prefer being human to being a plant?"

"Whatever. Look, this is what we call an opportunity. Next time Lady Persephone turns you into a plant, ask her to turn you into something that's being heartlessly transplanted here from the tropics. Then tell me how bad you felt when you were one. It isn't that compli-"

"No, and I hate you so much right now."

"You're being irrational."

"I'm trying to preserve what's left of my sanity," Nico said, "Look, if you're that desperate to go crusading, go convince my Dad to stop trying to make me one of his footsoldiers or something. Unlike the stupid flowers, I could actually use the help."

"And miss out on the rest of your family drama?" Rachel turned back to her book, "Not a chance in Hades. It's like having a soap opera at my doorstep."

* * *

**Graves**

Rachel stumbled, caught herself, and squinted into the darkness.

"Where are we again?"

Nico looked a little woozy. Apparently this shadow-travelling two people at once thing was a little new.

"Graceland," he told her, once he'd stopped swaying.

She looked at him sideways, "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

Nico rolled his eyes, "Famous graveyard, Chicago?"

"Yeah. I think you're the only sixteen-year old male in the world who keeps track of graveyards."

He looked harassed. He tended to look harassed after spending time some time with her. A part of Rachel felt mildly guilty, but the rest of her rejoiced at having found someone so… entertaining to annoy. Her Dad's reactions these days tended to veer towards being utterly predictable.

"Can you help me or can't you?" he waved that bit of paper at her, "Because if it turns out that I brought you here for nothing-"

"Stop spazzing out and give it to me already, Deadboy."

So, the quest thing mostly worked when people asked her questions. Mostly. The rest of the time she was about as normal as a person could be, right?

Ha.

It turned out that even when she was in control of her mind, her body was being autopiloted by the spirit of the Oracle. Space out for a minute or so and she'd find herself walking her way to the nearest crossroads of fate. Or occasionally, towards something that had something to do with whatever it was she was thinking at the moment.

She'd complained, but Apollo had told her that it was another unavoidable side effect. She was starting to wish she'd demanded to see the contract before she signed up for it.

Meanwhile, her problems persisted. And when she complained to Annabeth, she got recruited as the newest demigod GPS substitute. Percy had prodded her into searching for missing Pegasus foals, Annabeth had tricked her into walking her way to where Eris had hidden that stolen statue of Hera, Grover and Juniper had made her locate an oh-so-special acorn...

And now Nico had showed up (out of thin air in her bedroom, which was just really creepy) demanding to know where a wooden chest was buried so he could go dig it up already. She'd squinted at him from under her pillow, pulled the covers back over her head and asked him if he couldn't have shown up fifteen minutes earlier, when she'd been feeling insomniatic.

It disturbed her how much such events had stopped disturbing her.

"Well?" Nico asked, fidgeting.

"I'm trying, I'm trying," she told him, and started walking in a random direction, "I have to blank out my mind. That isn't as easy as it sounds."

"Hurry up," Nico followd her, fidgeting, "I don't want to run into Inez again."

"Who?"

"Famous ghost-"

"Let's get this cleared. I know little to nothing about ghosts and you'll have to keep that fact in mind when you're talking to me, okay?"

"She's a creepy little girl and talking to her is weird."

"Creepier than you?" Rachel grinned at him, "And can't you just point at her and make her go poof? Being the Ghost King and everything?"

He looked at her and rolled his eyes, "Not this ghost. Too many people know about her."

"…And that means?"

Nico's look clearly told her to shut up. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"It's… belief. You remember how Pan went out because there wasn't enough of the wild out there anymore? It's like that, except in reverse. The really famous ghosts are a little… powerful."

"Really? How much?"

"I'd have to call in my Father."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, it's a little- watch it."

Rachel grunted and barely escaped smashing her foot against a white marble gravestone with golden lettering. Then her legs decided to come abruptly to a stop.

"We're here," she announced.

"Here?" Nico looked skeptical, and she could see why. The cloth he'd handed her had been old. The grave didn't even have a body; just a gaping hole about six feet deep and a little longer.

"Hey, you have problems? Take it up with my feet. I'm just the Host to the Parasite."

Nico spared her another look before snapping his fingers and calling up two skeletons. She watched, mildly fascinated, while they scrabbled around at the bottom of the grave trying to find whatever it was Nico wanted them to find.

"Why do you want an old box, anyway?"

"Nothing much," Nico tried to squint into the grave, "Just something this ghost wants me to do. He won't stop bugging me."

"You're playing ghost pacifier now?"

"Have you tried having an old bearded ghost looking sadly over your shoulder while you're up against Clarisse in the arena? I can tell you it's not good for my health."

One of the skeletons threw up an arm. It had the box attached to it.

"Excellent," Nico snapped his fingers again, and the bone dissolved to dust. Rachel calmly buffed her nails, just to prove she didn't find this even the slightest bit unnerving.

* * *

**Notes Again:**

And yesh, in my world, Rachel has superpowers. 8D She totally earned them with all the fangirl abuse she endures.


	14. 42 to 43

**Notes:** These two drabbles were based of two songs on my MP3 (because my ipod is still under repairs and I don't think I'll ever get it back, oh woe); specifically **Click, Click, Flash (Ciara) **and **How You Remind Me (Nickelback)**.

No, it's not really supposed to make sense. you can stop pondering now.

* * *

**Enemy**

When the beam of bright light hit Nico on his face when he stepped out of the crypt, he honestly thought it was some monster which had gotten creative and decided to use his super night vision against him.

So he'd crouched automatically and started to open the gym bag he'd started carrying around lately. Swords with blades about a meter long were a little hard to conceal, even with the Mist. And it did not help that the Stygian iron had a natural aversion to being camouflaged.

"Mr. Di Angelo, care to explain what you're doing out here at… oh, two in the morning?"

Oh dear gods, it wasn't your run of the mill semi-creative monster. It was _her._

Nico wished, just for a moment, that the earth would open up and swallow him. Then he had to concentrate on keeping it from happening.

The camera flashed again and he winced. Stupid night-oriented eyes.

"You know," Melody Everton primly sat down on a nearby headstone, "Some people would find it suspicious, seeing a guy dressed all in black with gloves and a giant gym bag slung over a shoulder here. They might think he was digging up graves. Or worse, making one."

"I was not!"

"Of course you weren't," she said, amiably, "So let me see that bag of yours, just to be sure. And then we can both be on our way."

Nico gave her his best scowl, but she didn't flinch. She just winked at him and made a come-hither gesture. Her photographer/bodyguard snickered in the background and took another photo. Probably one that showed him looking ready to murder someone.

Godsdamned heiresses and their godsdamned issues.

"You know, Nico," Melody said, her tone sympathetic, "You don't have to do everything Rachel tells you to do just because she's-"

"Get out of here, bitch."

Melody was to Rachel what Kronos had been to the gods. Except for that whole thing about them not being related. Nico had been too busy paying admiring attention to the sheer venom in Rachel's voice when she was narrating their History to really catch all the details, but there had been something in there about a hairdryer, an iPod and a Clarion talent show. He hadn't tried to puzzle it out afterwards.

"Rachel," Melody trilled, and slid down from the gravestone, "How lovely to see you! It has been forever-"

"Forever won't be long enough," Rachel snarled, stomping down from the darkness, "Didn't I have a restraining order put out against you?"

"The judge rescinded it," Melody smiled at her, "My brother knows his bartender."

"I'll get it reinstated," Rachel promised her, and grabbed Nico by an arm, "Come on, Nico. Let's get out of her hemisphere."

Melody didn't protest. It probably had something to do with the way Rachel's eyes were practically glowing and things. But she gave Nico a cheery wave and told him she'd catch him in a graveyard some other time.

He wished they'd stop pulling him into their catfights already.

* * *

**Home**

"You will not scream," Rachel told herself, "You will not, under any circumstances, scream like the cheerleader from a horror movie. You will be calm, you will be composed, and you will conduct yourself with utmost dignity, by the gods."

The sofa she'd salvaged from a rummage sale was raised into the air and thrown in her general direction. Her throat screeched out something shrill without checking in with the rest of her while her legs moved on autopilot.

"Rachel, duck!"

Rachel threw herself at the ground just before three hundred pounds of slobbering monster could flatten her into a meat patty. In the process, she managed to scrape her calf on a table and stub her toe on a chair. She also landed at an awkward angle and something twisted somewhere in her shoulder.

And people did this running-jumping-acrobatics thing for fun? Her friends were _crazy._ And Nico charging headfirst at the monster with a giant black sword only reinforced that opinion.

"Son of Hades," the monster rumbled thoughtfully, "Bad taste. Bob no like."

Nico tried to cleave him into two with his sword, but Bob twisted out of his reach at the last second. All he managed was a gaping cut on one of the thing's arms before it lopped him into the opposite wall. Bob looked slightly annoyed, but he just snarled once, sniffed at the air and turned to her. Rachel yelped.

"Nico! Do something!"

"I'm trying," he yelled at her, scrambling up from across the room "Haven't you noticed?"

"Try harder," She scrambled over to the display shelf, "That thing wants to _eat_ me!"

"Good," he panted, "You're entirely too unsympathetic when we tell you about our monster attacks-"

"Can you lecture me later? I think it's licking it's tongue."

"It has a _tongue_?'

"Can we have the ADHD moment a little later?" Rachel took careful aim and threw a china dish at its' head. It made Bob stop in confusion for a couple of seconds.

"Now!" she screamed.

Nico let out a hoarse scream and charged again. This time, he managed to lop the head off.

Rachel muttered a thank you to the world in general, and flopped down on to the ground. A few second later, she felt Nico joining slump down beside her.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"It's okay," she waved a hand, them winced when her shoulder protested, "No harm done. At least now I know I really need to get into shape."

"I can move out," he offered, a little halfheartedly, "I mean, if I weren't here-"

"I'd be bored out of my mind," she interrupted, "Trust me, Di Angelo. If I had a problem with you staying here, I'd have told you already. And besides, I'm used to good food now. If you go, I'll starve."

"But your shoulder looks weird," he said, poking cautiously at it, "And your leg is purpling. I really think I should-"

She grabbed him with the hand that wasn't woozy at the edges and pulled him close.

"Stay. Or I'll go crazy," she waved a hand around the room, "I'll go crazy and I'll start making messes like this without any help. This I can deal with. Staying here alone? Not really."

He slumped a little more heavily, but still looked a little skeptical.

And if you want a practical reason," she added, just to reassure him, "You help me assert my independence. Nothing annoys my Dad as much as you crashing here."

And right on cue, because Warren Dare had impeccable timing, the front door opened and he walked to a ravaged room, broken china and two sweaty people sitting really, really close to each other.

His face started to turn red, and Rachel let out a satisfied sigh.

"Like I said, _nothing._"

* * *

**Notes:** Two updates in as many days? Nobody is more surprised than I am. XD

I think I missed this pairing. :)


	15. 44

**Notes:**Based off two lines of Awake and Alive by Skillet. Loosely.

Also, one anonymous reviewer mentioned something about the irregularity of chronological sequence. :/ Sorry about that. I would arrange them from start to end if I knew them. But I don't.

Most stories would take place when Rachel's in her early-mid twenties. Which puts Nico at being in his late teens or early twenties respectively. Mostly the second set. There's no concrete timeline; or concrete continuity, for that matter. This set of drabbles-shots is more character study than an actual story, and I've still not settled on various bits for most of the cast. Any contradictions you see are me trying to work out the kinks. Or, possibly me being careless.

About the timeline; most of these are in the period mentioned above. If otherwise, I will make a not of it in the intro. I hope that's acceptable.

* * *

**Price**

There was a small bonsai next to the waiting table, and he could probably reach it if he leaned over enough. And while his stepmother had _somehow_ terrorized his plant-killing abilities into being a fraction of what they once were, he was pretty sure he could manage the effort required to kill one. It was either that, or letting the boredom consume him instead.

Nico had settled on the fact that contemplating mindless killing of innocent plants was completely justified after the first ten minutes of sitting outside Warren Dare's office, and he didn't particularly care about the sanity of the statement.

"Mister Di Angelo?"

"_Finally!"_

The secretary gave him a look that went perfectly well with the subtly emphasized tone of the _Mister_. It told him eloquently that he was not supposed to be here, that he knew it at least as well as she did, and that if her boss was going to let him be here, he'd better keep his head down and say nothing unless he was spoken to. It actually managed to be worse than Alecto hovering over his shoulder when he met up with his father.

To make things worse, he'd actually _tried_ this time. While Rachel claimed to enjoy the way he raised her father's blood pressure without effort, he really, really did not. If Mr. Dare had actually asked him to come within his sphere of presence, he was going to be polite, and well behaved and neatly dressed, and Rachel could go seek drama elsewhere.

As per the laws of the universe, that meant that he just _had_ to be jumped by a herd of drunken centaurs two blocks from the building. Following which he had to dodge and duck and weave his way into smashing the entrance door of the Dare Enterprises building. Following which he had to execute an emergency monster maiming sequence which had put two large cracks on the reception desk and one blackened burn on a sofa set.

One of these days, he was going to hunt down the fates and scream at them. The dread they could inspire couldn't really be much worse that the dread he got from walking into Mr. Dare's office with a tattered shirt and half-burned hair.

Mr. Dare was at his desk when he entered, sitting back in a swiveling chair and shadowed by a man in a black suit. He took one glance at Nico, and his strained smile evaporated into nothingness. Nico opened his mouth to make an explanation, and then decided it might be much better if he didn't try.

Mr. Dare closed his eyes for a moment before speaking, like it physically pained him to do it.

"Let's cut to the chase. How much?"

"Huh?"

"Don't act stupid, boy," Mr. Dare glowered, "How much? The sooner I get rid of you, the saner I'm going to be."

"What?"

Mr. Dare impatiently waved over the man in black, who snapped open a file and got out a slim piece of paper. He placed it in front of Nico, on the desk. Nico blinked at the paper and squinted, trying to make out the spidery handwriting.

"Can't you read?" Mr. Dare growled after the first ten seconds.

"I'm dyslexic," Nico snapped back, losing patience, "Look, Mr. Dare. Could you just tell me what the h- what you're talking about?"

"Rachel."

"Still not getting it."

Mr. Dare leaned towards him, palms flat on the desk, "My. _Daughter_. I'm not going to stand by and watch her get screwed over by a punk looking for a freebie. Take the check, get out of her life, and make sure you never darken my doorstep ever again."

"_What?_"

"Don't pretend this isn't what you've been after all along."

"What, no!" Nico looked at the check again and tried to make out the number of zeroes, just for kicks. There were quite a few of them.

"The price I've offered you is more than reasonable. It's the best you're going to get."

Nico snapped straight, mirroring Mr. Dare's pose by leaning over the desk, palms on the surface. Only he was standing instead of sitting, and was able to loom more effectively. Mr. Dare put a hand into his desk drawer, presumably fingering whatever lethal weapon he had hidden in there.

"I'm not looking for money!" he told Mr. Dare, "I like Rachel."

He received a look of extreme skepticism.

"I do!" Nico protested, "And I don't need money. Seriously."

Another skeptical look, this time directed at his clothes. Nico sighed, and stepped back.

"No deal. And look, I- just…don't tell Rachel about this, okay? She'll get angry."

No movement on the other side.

"I'll just walk myself out, then."

"I'll find what your game is," Warren Dare promised him, "And then I'll end it."

Because that's just what he needed in his life'; someone _else_ out to get him. Forget screaming. When he met the Fates, there was going to be _maiming_.

* * *

**Further Notes:** Hard to say where I stand with Mr. Dare. XD Making him one-dimensional would be terrible, but I needed a jerkass too, or it wouldn't be fun. At the moment, I'm mixing a typical Corrupt Corporate Executive with an expy of Gentleman John Marcone from the Dresden Files. We'll see where this goes...


	16. 45

**Notes: **And apparently I'm trying to make a coherent storyline of some sort for this pairing. o.O Wonders never cease. And it's even _long. _Ish.

For those who want to know, Nico is fourteen and Rachel is eighteen, but later times are hinted at a little.

* * *

**Acquaintance**

Overusing money always left Rachel feeling like she'd been through food poisoning.

Not that being an heiress wasn't amazingly convenient, but she got by perfectly fine with a beanbag chair, a stack of books and wardrobe consisting almost entirely of ravaged medium-priced jeans most of the time. Expenses outside of that were reserved primarily for Situations Arising in the Greek World, and considering the expenses involved (a hijacked-with-money limousine and a helicopter were only the _beginning_) Rachel thought it was a very good thing she was prone to under-spending her massive allowance outside of her secret life as a mummy substitute.

Unfortunately, her parents really didn't see it that way. Especially her mother, who had broken down into sobs over her daughter's attire. If Clarion hadn't had a lovely uniform, her mother had declared, her daughter would have shamed her by wearing ratty jeans in and out of classes. (As this was probably true, Rachel thought it was better not to argue.) Ruth Dare despaired over how her daughter had an allowance three times as big as her mother had when she was her age, and that she didn't even bother to use it.

"It's called inflation," Rachel had told her, trying to insert some amount of sense into the proceedings. Despite the fact that sense and her allowance were two vastly removed concepts.

"You're doing this deliberately," her mother had replied, eyes shining with tears, "Talk to her, Warren!"

Sometimes she thought her extra-powerful oracular sight was boosted by the predictability of her family. Her father talked to her. She talked back. It did not end well. And the scene repeated itself more times than she could bother to count. But the week after her High School graduation, things had been a little different. They had argued, threatened each other and been generally nasty towards everyone, as per usual. But there had also been hidden maneuverings overt blackmailing, and Rachel found herself the owner of a brand-new Penthouse Apartment, on pain of being given a pack of baby Chihuahuas to raise. She was also forced, (on pain of disinheritance- that one never got old) to move into said apartment.

The apartment in question was large. It was also luxurious, impeccably furnished and somehow managed to be pretty in spite of all the monstrous vases her Dad had insisted on putting everywhere. But more evidently, it was large. It was very, very large. It was the kind of home you designed keeping in mind an heiress and her retinue of hairdressers, designers, tabloid-fuel love interests and defense lawyers, and as Rachel was fresh out of all but the first, she was struck with an overpowering feeling that she was moving into a mausoleum.

That would have been fine, really. It would have been normal. But Rachel was not just a rebellious heiress, she was also the Oracle of Delphi. And sometimes, as the Oracle, she had feelings. The hard part was separating her gut instincts from Oracle gut instincts, and much to her displeasure, she couldn't figure out if need to fill _up_ the place with a living thing that wasn't a potted plant was the lost cry of a lonely soul or a warning of impending doom.

She thought over it, and decided to urge on the side of caution by inviting every demigod of her acquaintance over for housewarming (or any other excuse she could think of) party. Also, it might even annoy her Dad, which was something of a plus.

It would have been a very good idea _if_ most of them hadn't gone home or on the exchange to Camp Jupiter (which at least explained the notable absence of Percy, Annabeth and Clarisse). The Roman Campers distrusted her, and the remaining Greeks were generally harassed by the Romans and ran away when they saw her walking towards them, presumably expecting a prophecy of some kind. And the few people she _had_ managed to corner were either busy managing the CJ residents, or utterly uninterested in spending the time near the Oracle of Doom.

She'd earned something of a reputation for gloomy prophecies. Apollo, being the airhead he was, called it her 'talent'. She just suspected her inner insanity had finally found an outlet.

In the end, the only person she actually got to was Nico di Angelo, all of fourteen, too distanced from everyone else to help out at Camp, too wrapped up in his own gloom to care about her doom, and too polite (which was a really weird thing for a Son of Hades) to say no to her obviously desperate offer. She also suspected he'd been just a little intimidated by her ever since that time she hijacked the Peagsus and told him to shove off when he tried to get her off it.

Once she realized that the muttered mumble was a "Yeah, whatever," and not "No, deathwish," she almost thought of cancelling it. One moody demigod was nothing like a brood of party-animal demigods (and also really not what she had in mind for any death-mode fights), her father would sneer at her efforts to undermine his authority and frankly, she did enough of the sending kids-of-to-deaths thing without adding it on as an extracurricular. But he'd looked so small and lonely and depressed in his cabin that she didn't have the heart to chuck him. (Even if, in all probability, he might have been relieved about it. Annabeth was right- the kid _needed_ to get out more and oh gods, if she was trying to manage people she was spending too much time with her.)

So she dragged him to her new apartment, put him the second largest bedroom, and promised unlimited junkfood, video games, horror movies, torture devices, or whatever else his little black heart desired so long as he stayed there and made the mausoleum feel less mausoleum-like. After which she went and did her own things and left him to do his. It worked so surprisingly well that when Percy showed up three weeks later and asked her to release Nico from his makeshift prison because he had demigodly duties to attend to, she had to blink a bit before she realized what the heck he was talking about.

It wasn't that she forgot Nico was staying with her, it was more about how he'd become something of a _fixture_ in the apartment. Sofas, paints, tables, beds, kitchen and Nico. They were all unavoidable parts of the place, and it was hard to imagine it without them.

They complimented each others' quirks and got along surprisingly well. She burned eggs, he didn't (not after the first two or so, anyway). He moped about and muttered weird things to himself, she barely blinked an eyelash and asked him to pass her the paintbrush. He didn't freak out when her eyes glowed green and she went into chimney mode. She only rolled her eyes when she saw the skeleton stacking shelves with random spices. Over the days, they had even developed a pattern of what would be watched on the home theater, and had managed (without much fighting or arguments) to agree on a balanced mix of preppy music (him), gothic rock (her), soap operas (her), crime series (him), old movies (both of them) and random documentaries about things like the Bauhaus school and embalming.

When Nico grumbled about stupid relatives and went off to presumably slay monsters and so on, Rachel was annoyed to discover that her eggs didn't taste half as good as they used to. And that the apartment (which had her wondering what life would have been like if she'd just offered to do take it up sooner) had gone back to being a mausoleum. She eventually adjusted to it, but that persistent feeling of weirdness (from the lack of apocalypse scenarios, she'd ruled out the Oracle and decided it was just her being irritable)… persisted.

When she'd woken up one day to see Nico rummaging in the kitchen with a sheepish, slightly stubborn look, her reaction was relieved more than anything else. He made extra eggs, she put on the coffee, and they sat together at the table and ate with vague commentary about the state of food and of trying out something other than eggs one of these days. Rachel felt her universe tilt back into something more comfortable, because while he was never a permanent fixture like he'd been in the first three weeks, there was another reoccurring presence in the place.

She got used to the arrangement. She'd throw open the second bedroom doors and on more than one occasion to see him curled up in a ball under the covers (he sneaked into places by default and she had no problem with it so long as he wasn't sneaking into places on her side of the apartment). She'd walk into the kitchen to find it messed up, obsessively cleaned, or devoid of/supplied with things you used for cooking (which didn't mind her so long as he left some food over for her; it was a lot like having hired a really uncommunicative invisible cook). There were sometimes little trails of blood on the floor which always got cleaned up by the next day (she invested in an industrial-size first aid kit and slipped it into Nicos' bathroom, and was rewarded with home-made pizza).

It was actually a comfortable agreement for the most part, but to say that the entire thing helped in creating complicating consequences would be an understatement. And considering her later life, she never really _did_ figure out for sure if those hours of wanting to desperately accommodate demigods was her paranoia talking or the spirit of Delphi predicting.

* * *

**End Notes:** Mhm. Slightly less silly when compared to what I usually do for them. Thoughts would be appreciated. :)


	17. 46 to 48

**Notes:** So this set is based on the Rachel/Nico origin story experiment I posted a while ago. They're all missing moments from the (short) narrative, and can be read on their own. It might, however, be better to glance through Parallelism (again, its _really_ short) before reading the third shot, in particular. But meh, whatever works for you.

The first 'shot takes place immediately after The Battle of NY, obviously. The later two are set around the time Nico is 15 and 16, approximately.

* * *

**Encounter**

The first time he really talked to the Dare heiress, she was bullying a Pegasus and he was trying to figure out how to stop her. If he'd taken the time to stop and consider the situation, he might have realized how inherently insane it was.

"Would you get down already?" he asked for what seemed like the twentieth time, barely reigning in the impulse to call a skeleton up just to soothe his nerves.

"No," she told him (again), rolling her eyes and mercilessly jerking at Blackjacks' mane, "Why are you even here, Nico?"

Because everyone else was busy celebrating and being all backslappy and he still sortof flinched whenever people got close to him, but she didn't have to know that. And it was surprising to hear anyone call him by his name. Most campers still called him Di Angelo. But then again, she wasn't a Camper, which was the whole point.

"You're a mortal, you can't-"

"Don't discriminate," Rachel told him, and wrestled Blackjacks' protesting head into something vaguely like submission, "I'll manage. I know how."

Oh gods, it looked like she was actually serious about this stuff.

"Percy sent me to look for you," he blurted out (lied) in desperation.

It didn't even work for the smallest second, which was irritating. He was usually a good liar.

"Sure he did," Rachel sighed, "Move out of the way, kid. You don't want to get under the hooves."

And with that, she completely ignored his (further) protests and swooped away on the Pegasus. Nico took the time to curse thoroughly before going to find Percy.

* * *

**Coercion**

"No," he told her.

"Oh come on," Rachel wheedled, "I don't have anyone else I can ask."

"Really?" he demanded, "Of all the people at Camp, you can only ask the Son of Hades to _move in with you_?"

His voice might have been a little bitter. Decisive battle turning points or not, a child of the underworld was still a child of the underworld. People with low life expectancies did not like it when someones' very presence reminded them about it. Rachel, of course, remained thoroughly unintimidated.

"If you think you're the only one with a bad rep, you're deluded," Rachel told him flatly, making herself completely at home in the bed opposite to him, "People _run away_ from me. Now stop being stubborn and agree already."

Nico glared at her, turned around and ignored her. If the consistent denials wouldn't work, maybe this would. Because seriously, sharing an apartment with the virgin Oracle he might or might not have a crush on (shut up) was just begging to the fates for complications. And in his experience, when the fates were begged for complications, they gladly granted them, plus extras for free.

A sigh from the other end.

"Look, it's not like I'm asking you to cut your hand off. You don't even like it here."

Nico opened his mouth to vehemently deny that-

"Don't even bother, I'm the Oracle. Good luck hiding anything from me."

"I thought your powers didn't that way."

"I don't need powers to see the way you sulk whenever you're out of your cabin. Or, these days, even when you're in it. Now _come on_ or I'll prophesy."

"No," Nico repeated (and his voice was firm, despite the sudden, reflexive feeling of _oh crap_ in his chest; because there was no way she was serious about that), "I don't care if you bring all the doom in the world down on my head. I am not coming with you."

Rachel bit her lip, and then nodded decisively. It made him a little nervous, because faith in people or not, he'd seen the kind of things the Oracle tended to predict, and son of Hades or not, they were enough to make him moderately squeamish. He hoped she wasn't going to take him literally.

"Okay," Rachel sighed, "I was really hoping to not have to do this but-"

Oh Hades, him and his big _mouth_-

"You'll have your own room, and I won't try to make you socialize. And I'll keep Annabeth from nagging you about it."

Nico stopped mid-desperation, and blinked. "Really?"

"Cross my heart," Rachel nodded solemnly, "You'll be safe in the tower from the dragon. You ready to move in now?"

And really, because escape from Annabeth and her managing ways was worth even potential smiting from the sun god, he couldn't think of any reason not to.

* * *

**Foresight**

They had established certain boundary rules, most of which had to do with him and his thing about hiding/appearing out of shadows and causing her brief moments of "omg-stalker-serial-killer-monster!" (or so she claimed). Nico had, grudgingly learned to entertain the concept of knocking (seriously something which happened to other people), and was surprised when he opened the unresponsive dining room door to find Rachel staring speculatively at a large bowl of popcorn.

"So, what's on?"

Rachel looked up from the bowl, and shrugged.

"Nothing, as far as I know."

"Then why do you have the popcorn?"

"That," Rachel replied, staring again at the bowl, "is a very good question. I'm hoping the answer does not involve blood, gore and general chaos."

"Oh," Nico said, and stared nervously at the bowl of popcorn.

As he'd learned from the year or so he'd been at her apartment, the spirit of Delphi worked in mysterious ways. There was that time when Rachel had dragged along a roll of canvas and paints on a quest-scouting trip (which she wasn't supposed to be in, really), only to be faced with what she claimed was the most dazzling array of colors in a sunset she'd ever seen and told the rest of them to go along because she had to paint it already. Then there was the time she bought the (non-celestial bronze shooting, completely mortal) gun for no apparent reason and turned up three hours later at the apartment muttering about stupid muggers. And there was the bit where people started throwing missiles in Capture the Flag, and where everyone paid close attention to Rachel because she always, _always_ knew when to duck.

Mysterious ways. But he didn't think popcorn counted as a lethal weapon in any scenario he could think of, so they were safe. Probably. Maybe.

"Uh, I'll go get my sword then?"

"Yeah," Rachel looked up briefly, "Do that. And while you're at it, get me something to throw. Just in case."

"Will do."

But he'd only taken three steps before the by-now-familiar burst of blue-green flame split the air and Alecto stepped out, in full-out lawyer mode with the business suit and severe glasses and everything. Nico tensed, preparing to fight to the death (..with _popcorn_?), and was startled to hear a muffled choke coming from behind him. He turned, expecting to see an ambush or something, only to find Rachel staring at the two of them and trying very hard not to… laugh?

And then, it clicked.

"You're kidding," he said. Flatly.

"I'm sorry," Rachel snorted, "I didn't think it would actually _work_."

Nico muttered the worst curse he knew under his breath (it made Alecto raise and eyebrow) and turned his snark phasers on to full power. After all, he wouldn't want her popcorn to go to _waste_ over a less-than-stellar performance or anything.

* * *

**Notes:** Reviews are food, drink and entertainment; and will be greeted with squeals of joy and a lot of fangirling. 8)


	18. 49

**Aide**

In a nutshell, the second giant war was over, there was victory, the world was saved and the two long estranged factions of the Greco-Roman were finally learning to get along with the help of a complicated system of regular reconnaissance missions, cultural events and mandatory exchange programs. All of which Rachel was really truly happy about, honest.

But then came the day when her name turned up on the roster of exchange.

"But why me?" she'd asked, "I'm not even Greek."

"Doesn't matter," Annabeth had carelessly waved away her protests, "People are protesting about their training program, and you're one of the few people who won't have to go through that."

"Are you sure about that?"

Because seriously, she had heard things about the training program. Mostly under cover of darkness with accompanied slashes of sharp things serving as illustration.

"Of course I'm sure," Annabeth had said, "The Romans are all about forseeing the future. They're going to _love_ you."

And that, eventually, had turned out to be the problem.

She wasn't too clear on the details, but it turned out that the last augur in Camp Jupiter had been a mouth-frothing megalomaniac who had started the mother of all civil wars against the Greeks. Which meant that, for the moment, most people were pretending the post did not exist. Which in turn meant that when a genuine supernatural Oracle landed in their midst, the Romans were all excited about her.

Unlike the Greeks, who tended to stay far, far away from anything predicting the future, the Romans had a tendency to the exact opposite. Knowledge, they claimed, was never a bad thing. Not even if it involved proclamations of certain doom, blood, gore and general chaos. And no amount of her trying to convince them that consulting the Oracle was only something you did in desperate straits actually worked. She ended up having to duck and run for cover whenever she saw someone walking at her, in case she said something that would end up with them having to deal with another apocalypse.

Anyway, eventually Reyna had gotten fed up with the whole mess (and her regular requests for annulling the exchange) and assigned her a bodyguard.

And okay, Nico was shorter than she was and dragged more gloom and doom around with him than any fourteen-year old ever had the right to, but he was effective. Especially with the Lares, who were more trouble than the rest of the Camp combined.

So here she was, one fine Sunday morning two weeks into her internship (with one week to go) and lounging in the Coliseum while buff, sweating, handsome half-naked male campers (and, granted, their female counterparts) went at each other with practice swords. The Greeks who had come along with her regarded gladiator time with the same amount of horror with which they regarded wild drakons attacking their cabins; but given that nobody expected the great and powerful and respected Oracle to actually _join_ in the fracas, Rachel personally considered it the best time of the day.

In many ways, it was a good life.

Garion of the third cohort swung his sword in an arc which was neatly intercepted by Dakota of the fifth, their faces flushed and sweating and glaring. Rachel let out an involuntary appreciative sigh.

One seat to her left, Nico sighed too. Except he didn't sound all that appreciative.

"Oh come on, Nico," Rachel said, not taking her eyes off the spectacle, "Don't tell me you aren't enjoying this just a little."

"I yelled off three Lares in the last ten minutes," Nico grumbled, "This is not my idea of fun."

"You are working very hard and you deserve a reward," Rachel agreed, continued to not take her eyes off the arena, "Which is why I want you to enjoy these sights with me."

Silence from the left. Garion got inside Dakota's reach and lunged, leading to some spectacular acrobatics- or not acrobatics as much as some spectacular flailing and ouch, that had to _hurt_-

"Ouch," Nico winced, "That had to hurt."

"How good are the medics here?" Rachel wondered.

"Very good," Nico confirmed, "Our Apollo guys were petitioning for reassignment from gladiator training to the medical wing."

"But?"

"There was paperwork."

"Ah." (CJ ran on paperwork, while CHB cheerfully denied its' existence. It made for some interesting incidents.)

Rachel turned back to the arena just in time to see Serena from the Fourth execute a move that made Declan from the Ares Cabin duck and yelp. Nico groaned and yelled out a correction at Declan, who responded with a glare which dissipated to nothingness when he saw her.

Rachel waved at him, which for some reason made him shudder and turn back to the fight just in time for Serena (who had absolutely no sympathy for mid-fight communications) to soundly knock him over the head with a wooden practice sword, leaving only three CHB-ers left awake and undamaged- a significant step down from the original ten.

Well, eight- what with her being exempt from banging people over the head with wooden swords and Nico being conscripted into being her personal secretary. That last one made Rachel grin like a grinny thing. Or possibly a shark.

"What?" Nico asked suspiciously.

"You do realize you're my girl friday, right?"

"What?"

"Because when you think about it, you're not bodyguarding me as much as you're taking applications for prophecies and keeping the paparazzi away-"

"The Lares?"

"The Lares. I'm glad you exist, by the way- or I would have spent all my time in CJ hiding in Apollo's temple- by which I mean I would have missed the views."

One of said views (someone from the Second, Rachel guessed) screamed and charged at another of the views, and there was a flurry of ducks and parries which were somehow more dance than fight and- really, it was wonderful to watch.

"You can't actually date them," Nico pointed out.

"I don't have to want a guy to admire his form," Rachel said, "Take Apollo, for example. Horrible, terrible, cataclysmically abysmal boyfriend material? Without a doubt. Worth staring at for ages? Yeah, probably."

"You_ do_ that to him?"

"It's hard to not stare at him, really," Rachel shrugged, "He kindof- draws the eye."

"My Dad does that too," Nico volunteered, "I mean, you can't really look away from him when he's speaking to you. Or tune him out. Or lie. Or well- do anything but listen."

"I've never met your father," Rachel mused, "I mean, most of the Olympians have spoken to me at one point or another, or sent me messages at least -did you know Hermes likes gatorade and kinda looks like Nathan Fillion?- but your dad's a little reclusive."

"He's always busy," Nico shrugged, "And grumpy. Not too fond of the Oracle, either."

"Yeah, that." Rachel lightly kicked at a random stone under her seat, "And you?"

"Me what?"

"Are you not fond of the Oracle?"

"Oh," Nico stared at his feet, "Not too much, I guess- not you, Rachel. I like you. But the _Oracle_..."

"I get it, believe me. I just wish the Romans would get it too- especially the freaking Lares," She sighed and got up, dusting herself off, "Well, that's it's for today, I guess. Anything you want to do next?"

Nico shrugged.

"Then want to help me bully Reyna into making arts and crafts a mandatory part of Roman training?"

"Bullying Jason would be easier," Nico pointed out.

"Maybe, but all the administrative stuff goes to Reyna towards the end anyway," Rachel said, "It's like Camp- you want something done, you go to Annabeth and not Percy. On the other hand, if you want something _blown up_..."

"You go to Leo?"

"Or Percy. Or Clarisse, I suppose. Or the Stolls. Or that one Demeter girl with the frizzy hair-"

"Catalina," Nico supplied, shuddering.

"Yes, her. I like her. We can always find use for people who blow things up," Rachel said, "As a person of mass destruction, you should be aware of this. So come on- you can back me up when I talk to Reyna."

And so Nico sighed and prepared himself to go from bodyguard-secretary to minion, because this assignment was really giving him a crash course in multitasking. He shuddered to think of the day when Rachel inherited her Dad's company, he really did.


End file.
